Book 9 - John
by Veronice
Summary: Henry Bellamy is the most powerful wizard in the world. The criminal family Khatabi believe themselves to be the most powerful wizards in the world. When Bellamy defeats them, the matriarch, old Riza Khatabi, takes a terrible revenge. Henry Bellamy, once known as Harry Potter, becomes the John Doe.
1. Chapter 1

BOOK 9

Title: John.

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling._

_Summary: Henry Bellamy is the most powerful wizard in the world. The criminal family Khatabi believe themselves to be the most powerful wizards in the world. When Bellamy defeats them, the matriarch, old Riza Khatabi, takes a terrible revenge. Henry Bellamy, once known as Harry Potter, now becomes the John Doe. This story is set in the not too distant future. _

_Terminology used__: Anirage is the technical name for wizards, and muggles are called 'Medj.' _

_A very brief history of the previous eight books of this series__. _

_Harry Potter is now called Henry Bellamy__. He is very old, and his power is greater by far than any other wizard of the world. His wife is Pat, a muggle, and his daughters are Susan, Lesley and Mary. __Old handicaps__: a tendency to stagger to the left when ill or tired, and occasional trembling attacks. _

_Chapter 1/Part 1:_

The young horses were excited, some of them cantering around the paddock, bucking and playing, others claiming a position close to the strange man who entered their large paddock. They were the forty-three foals of the previous year, categorised now as yearlings, though few were quite twelve months old. They were of the stud, the 'Line of Sheba,' now very well known among the show jumping fraternity. There was a profit sharing arrangement, and while Paul Pickering managed the stud along with his own Andalusian stud, it was Henry Bellamy who was the actual owner.

One by one, he spoke to the horses, blacks, bays, chestnuts, and quite a lot of skewbalds. Each of them wore a halter, with a name and number shown on the browband. Although the young man's name was Henry Bellamy, he was almost always known as just Bellamy, except to his employees and the children of his employees, who universally called him Boss. Even Paul sometimes called him Boss, though Paul had never been an employee. To his wife only, he was Henry.

Eight names were entered in the note book that Paul carried. Eight good looking young horses were rejected, according to Bellamy, not brainy enough to be of the Line of Sheba. Paul objected to the exclusion of one, a beautiful black colt that showed the promise of speed. But Bellamy was adamant - the Line of Sheba horses had to be clever, he said. He added, "Keep him, if you like, for your own use, but a good showjumper has to have brains."

Paul was grumpy. "I might just do that." And then he pointed to a small black filly. "I really think we should reject that one - she's way too small."

Bellamy whistled, and the filly shook her head, and then cantered to him. He caressed her, talking to her. The filly nuzzled him and whickered.

Paul raised his eyes to the sky. It was perfectly obvious that the filly would stay. It wasn't final. There'd be another cull in a year's time, and yet another a year after that, when it would be decided which of the fillies might be kept for breeding, which sold as 'Line of Sheba' horses, and which sold separately. The Line of Sheba horses were in high demand and fetched extremely high prices, but their reputation could not be risked by including inferior animals.

Bellamy conceded to the rejection of three other young horses, though. Paul was better than himself at assessing the conformation and likely athletic ability of the young horses, but it was only Bellamy who had the almost mystical communication with his horses that enabled him to pick the brainy ones.

Paul waited for it, and it came. "I wish we could keep them all," Bellamy sighed. "They're all beautiful."

Paul smirked, and said, "The next lot?"

Paul took the lead as they looked at the older horses. Bellamy held each one, and talked to it, as Paul ran experienced hands over it, and then stood back, and just looked. Three more were rejected.

"Not quite up to standard," Paul said.

Bellamy nodded. The stud had been going for many years now, and for quite a lot of years, he'd been away from home and out of touch. It was Paul and his parents who'd developed it from the few mares he'd kept. Paul's judgement was good.

"Are you planning on gelding all of these colts?" Bellamy asked.

"I was," Paul said.

"Not that one," said Bellamy decisively, pointing at an oddly marked skewbald.

Paul wrinkled his nose, saying, "I hate its markings - it looks ridiculous."

Bellamy laughed. "We can always do it later, have another look at it next year, if you like, but I think it could be the best of them all."

The skewbald colt stamped his feet, tossed his head, and led the others in a sudden dash around the paddock. He knew he was being discussed, and wasn't at all sure that he liked it. Paul said, "He's currently called 'God Wot?' but maybe we should give him a more dignified name if we're going to keep him."

The next group were the three year olds, and the most important selection was to be made. Which of the fourteen fillies should be kept for breeding, which should be sold? There was also the lesser question - were any of the geldings needed for riding horses, or should they all be sold? There was one ungelded colt, called Tattler. But he hadn't developed as well as Paul had hoped, and it was decided that he would not, after all, be kept for breeding.

Two hours passed as Bellamy and Paul argued, continuing even over the afternoon tea provided by Paul's wife, Helena. Fourteen-year-old Marcus Pickering joined them, with the sure instinct of a growing boy when food was in the offing. Helena smiled at her son, who glanced at the pair and shrugged. They were again in dispute over 'God Wot?' It happened every year, this sometimes heated discussion, in spite of their close friendship.

When finally peace was restored, Marcus and Helena joined Paul and Bellamy as they admired the Andalusians. They were beautiful, showy horses, though Bellamy privately thought that they were stolid and without character next to his own. Paul guessed at his thoughts, and said stoutly, "Each one of your horses is more trouble than the whole thirty of the Andalusian mares!"

Bellamy grinned. He didn't deny that a horse with brains could be more trouble.

When Bellamy finally cantered off astride the bare back of his bay gelding, Paul went back to the paddock with the three year olds. He pointed his wand, muttered the words of the spell, and Tattler, the colt, became a gelding. Tattler shook his head and stamped his foot, but gelding a horse with magic was a painless process, and he dropped his head and began again to graze.

The horses for sale would be sent to Paul's brother, who lived a lot further away from Henry Bellamy. Bellamy's home was hidden, as even though there'd been few attempts at killing him in recent years, he was immensely valuable to the world of wizardry, and his security could not be risked by allowing clues such as the famed Line of Sheba stud, just next door. Henry Bellamy was 'the great wizard.' He could break spells that no-one else could break, so that he was in demand for healing the victims of curses when the mediwizards failed. And even more valuable, while the great wizard was around, no potential criminal wizard was likely to raise his head too far. Bellamy's abilities were legendary, British wizardry very lucky to have him.

Although he still looked a young man, he was now aged one hundred and sixty-four. As far as was known, there had never been a wizard who didn't appear to age at all, although there had always been a few powerful wizards and witches who aged more slowly than normal, achieving sometimes great ages. A witch in Morocco, for instance, finally died at one hundred and sixty-three. Not many had ever lived longer than that. She'd looked very, very old, of course, and Bellamy, at a year older, was young and vigorous.

Arriving home, Bellamy found his wife in the walled garden that she loved. "I got tired of Susan," she explained. "She's never still!" Bellamy grinned. Susan, aged thirteen, was home from school for the short Easter break. She was a livewire.

Bellamy hugged his wife, and the expression in his eyes evoked an instant response in Pat. But she shook herself. "We can't, not now, there's people everywhere!" she said.

"There's always the secret bedroom," her husband murmured.

But Pat was firm. "In just two years, the three of them will be off at school, and then we can make love whenever we choose." She continued sternly, "Right now, we have to be discreet."

Bellamy wasn't easily dissuaded, running caressing hands over her body, and saying softly, "The secret bedroom is discreet." Pat was weakening, but then Lesley and Mary, their younger daughters, suddenly pulled open the door in the wall, and demanded from Pat the answer to a burning question they had about super novae. Bellamy resigned himself to waiting until evening.

There _were _people everywhere. In a paddock not far away, Victor Armitage, who looked after the horses, was presiding over a riding lesson. Four boys of seven, eight and barely nine, children of Bellamy's employees, plus two daughters of Paul's employees, were neatly cantering around a paddock as Victor watched critically. Mary, Bellamy's youngest daughter, glanced over at the riders with disdain. Lesley and Mary, at eleven and nine, were tall for their ages, thin, and with strong boned, plain faces. They took after their mother, in their looks and in their very considerable intelligence. Susan, the oldest, was small, slight, and quick of action as well as of wit. Susan deemed herself too old to be bothered with riding lessons.

The following day was the annual Ministry Ball, always held on Easter Saturday. Bellamy was reluctant, but Pat said that there were people she wanted to catch up on. She looked at her sulky husband. "We'll leave before the speeches," she soothed. Bellamy was a sociable creature in most ways, but anything that hinted of formality had him shying off. And he loathed the way he was fawned upon at these events. He was too famous. He thought that British wizardry should be accustomed to him and treat him as just part of the scenery. But he was always stared at, people took his photograph, and even though he invariably refused, there was always someone asking for his autograph. There were always reporters, too, though they'd long given up asking for interviews. Still sulky, he grabbed the first set of dress robes that came to hand and slipped on the fancy garments.

Pat regarded him fondly. She was glad she'd allowed him to grow his hair long again. He was no longer in such danger as he'd been when she'd decreed that he had to have a short, normal haircut in order to be less conspicuous, and it was suitable that the great wizard should look the part.

The girls were left in the charge of Therese, one of the security guards. Bellamy wrapped his arm around his wife, and they were instantly at the venue, brightly lit with moving, coloured lights that gave it a festive air. Pat, who was Medj, that is, a normal person, not Aniragi, reflected for about the thousandth time, what a handy skill apparation was. She knew it could be dangerous, and that many wizards and witches chose not to use it. But her husband, of course, was an expert. And while apparation range for everyone else was only a few hundred miles, Bellamy, she knew, could apparate anywhere in the world he chose.

Bellamy and Pat were expected, and bodyguards provided by the Ministry, whether wanted or not, came straight to their sides. Kupec, Scott and Otis were well known to them, but although they were friends too, they were uniformed, on duty, and Otis reminded Bellamy quite sternly that they were not to be distracted with conversation. The bodyguards were aurors, the soldiers and policemen of the wizarding world. They were physically strong and fit, highly trained, and very efficient. They were the elite of their world, and most of them displayed an arrogance in their stance that showed how well they knew it.

Bellamy had been around so long that hardly any of those present were strangers. Pat had been married to Bellamy now for long enough that she, too, knew a lot of people. Looking impressive in the robes that became her tall and awkward figure, she went straight to talk to Dianne Abercrombie, the current Minister for Magic. Bellamy went with her to begin with, but Dianne sent him to speak to Don Alcott, who was looking for him.

It was only a quick rundown of the countries he'd be visiting over the next few weeks. Since most countries had finally made wizard duelling illegal, Bellamy's workload had dropped off considerably. It had been Pat's suggestion, that he simply refused to visit any country in which wizard duelling was legal, although self-defence was still permitted. His stand had been met with indignant disbelief at first, but then there was a trickle, and then a flood, as each country's governing body had passed the desired legislation. In some countries, it was not strictly enforced, but even then, the new legislation had some deterrent value.

"I'll be retiring soon," mentioned Don, who'd been an auror before his injuries compelled a change. He now coordinated Bellamy's trips.

Bellamy was surprised. "You're not that old!"

"I'm getting older all the time, and my legs pain these days, or rather, where my legs are supposed to be."

"It's a dangerous life, being an auror."

Don was reflective for a moment, but then grinned. "It has its advantages!" At Bellamy's questioning look, he said, "Being known to be an auror almost guarantees success with the girls."

Bellamy laughed, and teased, "Still? What about Lily?"

"Not since I married, of _course," _said Don.

"Of course," said Bellamy, and he smiled. "Nothing can compare to having your own wife." He spoke with perfect sincerity. Pat was his fourth wife, and he'd loved each of them with all his being. He was never so content as when he was married. "You know, about your leg pains - have you tried a spa?"

"Pretty expensive," said Don.

"Pat organised one for us several years ago," said Bellamy. "The old ones at home swear by it." And he offered, "I can conjure one for you, if you like. It'll last at least seventy years, though you'd best replace it after that."

Don laughed. "I can just imagine the sudden flood when it vanishes!" Conjures seldom lasted long, the official record just sixteen months. But Bellamy, of course, was different.

"I'll think about it," said Don, "But I think I prefer to avoid conjures, even yours."

Bellamy nodded. He would have liked to offer money, but knew how unwelcome that would be. He always had enough money, but people were touchy about offers of help. And anyway, Don was in a well paid position, and there was always compensation given when an auror was injured in the course of duty. Don could probably afford a spa if he chose.

Don and Bellamy were joined by other ex-aurors then, and the conversation became general, and then turned to reminiscing. There had been some interesting times for a while, when Bellamy had left his world and crime had made a resurgence. The Auror Department was still somewhat overstaffed as a result of those years, though a lot had recently gone to America, who were recruiting. Bellamy was beginning to feel guilty, as the mostly big men talked of problems that would not have occurred if he'd not been gone.

After a while, he took his leave, and strolled to join some other old friends, watched still by Kupec and Otis, though Scott was close to Pat. Bellamy knew there'd be other aurors on duty as well, though not in uniform. But many of them would be present only as guests. It was the Ministry Ball, after all.

A young woman had been waiting for an opportunity, and now approached him. Her exotic good looks were outstanding. Her family assumed that Bellamy would no longer be so much in love with his plain, middle aged wife, that he would not be tempted. But Bellamy only glanced at the slant eyed woman in front of him, acknowledged her greeting with apparent boredom, and went on his way. He was accustomed to approaches like this, and didn't bother analysing motives. This one was not the usual love-struck teenager. She was supposed to have his baby. Witches were very good at getting pregnant just as long as the man allowed the bare possibility, but Bellamy had almost instantly forgotten her.

The attempt was only one of a long series of approaches by the Khatabi Family, made now and then almost all his life, as soon as it became known that Bellamy was exceptional. Part Japanese, part Arab, Annilie was beautiful, but now she looked helplessly at her father. It had not been expected to be needed, but an infatuation potion was added to a drink that was offered to Bellamy. He accepted with courtesy, and routinely vanished it. It was well known that he never ate or drank at public gatherings. Although he could almost always detect poisons or drugs in his own food, there was the possibility that others around him might also be poisoned. Just another precaution in a dangerous life.

The Khatabi Family had, quite deliberately, been concentrating the bloodlines of the most powerful wizards and witches known, for hundreds of years. But even in his long ago youth, Bellamy had been choosy. It was not beauty that he looked for when he chose a woman to go to bed with. He avoided witches, who always knew who he was, and whose motives were suspect. Instead he chose medj women, not too young, not those looking for commitment, but honest, straightforward women, who loved sex.

He'd always had a lot of success with women. It was a gift. With a change of expression and a change of tone in his voice, he could show a yearning desire that had a woman wanting him. It was not magic, though possibly a part was due to selection. Long before he knew that he had any telepathic talent, he somehow knew when a potentially available woman loved sex. As often as not, then, it would appear that he was the seduced, rather than the seducer. It helped of course, that he was goodlooking and had an attractive body. But he was married now, and wanted no-one but his wife.

Bellamy looked around restlessly. A photographer took his picture, and he turned and walked away abruptly, although with no planned destination. If he stayed still too long, he'd be surrounded, and not with those he chose to talk to. There was Margaret Barnes, his employee, but Margaret was deep involved in flirtatious conversation with a tall redheaded young man, presumably her latest boyfriend. Margaret was not conventionally attractive, but had a great deal of character. Margaret and her brother Peter were the fourth generation of Barnes who'd worked for him, or, as they put it themselves, looked after him.

He joined Hugo Smith, instead. Like Margaret and Peter, and like several others present, Hugo was one of his own descendants, although several generations removed. Hugo ran a Joke Shop, and he and his partner entertained Bellamy considerably with their talk of the latest chain of merchandise, invented by 'a wild and whacky witch from the west,' as they put it.

Meantime, Pat was deep in conversation with Dieter Roche. Dieter was a Senior Auror, and, although in his early sixties, was Team Leader when Bellamy did his overseas trips, spell-breaking. There were always these days, Dieter, plus a minimum of four younger aurors as bodyguards, even when Bellamy apparated home every night, and a mediwizard. They knew that Bellamy was often bored by the job and that he didn't need the pay, so they tried hard to make him as happy as possible when they travelled. If Bellamy wouldn't or couldn't do it, there was no-one else. Dieter said to Pat, "I heard that Caradoc finally died."

Pat nodded. "He was buried on our property, as he wanted. He'd lived there something like seventy years."

"How did Bellamy take it?" Dieter asked, in a consciously casual tone.

"Not all that well. He told me that evening that he was just going for a walk. The next morning, he rang up, very sheepish, needing to be picked up from a medj hospital. It seems he became very drunk, and then took on a London street gang. He was thrashed!"

"Tony didn't tell me about that!" said Dieter, surprised. He assumed that the healer would have been automatically called in.

"Henry refused to see Tony," said Pat, in tones of despair. "He insisted he was perfectly all right, put on anti-bruising lotion himself, and, I suspect, healed a couple of broken ribs himself, too."

Dieter shook his head. "He should have seen his healer."

Pat shrugged. "He mostly does what I say, but this time, I let him be. Caradoc was a great loss to him."

Dieter was very fond of Bellamy, and was quiet for a while. There had been a time when Bellamy had become lost in confusion, a result of the grief caused by those around him dying, all of them, one by one, while he was left, forever young, unchanging. Bellamy had wanted to make himself die, but it seemed that he saw his dead wives and they refused to allow it. Dieter had been put in charge of him at that time, with authorisation to put him down if he deemed it necessary. A wizard as powerful as Bellamy, insane, was a fearful thought. But Bellamy had never shown any tendency to become dangerous, only becoming more and more quiet and sad, and allowing himself to be guided by the aurors. Even in that state, he could work cures that no-one else could work, and several aurors owed their lives to him. The great wizard was indispensable.

Dieter said, "I can count the number of times I've seen him drunk on the fingers of one hand."

"He became a bit tipsy when Mary was born," Pat said, "But that's the only other time I've known."

Dieter was one up on Pat. "He became extremely drunk at an Aurors' Party one night. It was after he found and confiscated the reward that was supposed to be paid to his killer."

Pat smiled. "I remember now, he said that he and Ryde won the horse and jockey race."

Dieter laughed. "Julia raked them all down the day after, but I saw her smiling, and she told me later that she should never have told Bellamy about the steeple chases they'd had once at a previous party."

Dieter was silent for a moment, then said, "He showed us something that night. He may not even remember it, as he passed out straight afterward."

"What was that?" asked Pat.

"Does he talk to you about his fears of confinement?"

Pat shook her head. "He's told me that it's what his nightmares are always about, being helpless and a prisoner, but he's a very private person. Even now, there's a lot I don't know about him."

"He showed us images, very real images."

Pat nodded. She'd seen the images that Bellamy could conjure in the air.

"The first one was when he was very young, just a scrawny kid, he said, and five aurors surrounded him. There was an ambulance trolley, and he said he'd been stuck full of tranquilliser."

Pat said, "He was barely seventeen. I read about it in a biography. The other students came to his defence and refused to allow the aurors to take him."

"There were other occasions, too. And then the last, the image was just his wrists, tied in the way that aurors tie prisoners, and there came with the image a feeling of uttermost horror."

They were both silent for a time then, looking in the direction of Pat's husband, now surrounded by a large group. "He carries scars," said Pat, finally, softly.

Bellamy was looking around in desperation. He'd known this would happen. He was surrounded, being gloated over by people in whom he felt no interest. There were reporters there too, noting down any word he was foolish enough to utter. And there was a matron with a marriageable daughter, thrusting her at him, as if she thought he was going to abandon Pat and settle for this girl, who was currently only looking embarrassed. He preferred not to be rude, but he longed to just disapparate from their midst. Otis was trying to keep an eye open for threats still, though Kupec was watching Bellamy, amused at the despairing look. Off to the side, there was a bang, and sparks. Otis was instantly close to the side of Bellamy, who said quickly, "Probably another attack, I'll have to leave," and turned his back on his harassers.

He crossed swiftly to Pat and Dieter, who were still talking. Like a child, he pleaded, "Can we go now?"

Pat smiled at her husband, and nodded. Bellamy gave a deep sigh of relief, and a hundred pairs of eyes watched as they strode to the apparation zone and vanished.

The bang and sparks had been nothing, of course. As the aurors had straightaway suspected, it was only Bellamy's idea of a diversion to enable his escape.

***chapter end***


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling._

_Part 1/__Chapter 2:_

Bellamy's weeks of work in Spain, in Greece, and in Norway, were short and mostly easy, removing spells that had left the victims with strange deformities, or able to move only at the speed of a snail, or dribbling and drooling. The nasty things that witches and wizards could do to each other were numerous. Only those that the mediwizards failed found themselves in front of the great wizard.

At least one auror was always in the room as he worked, as bodyguard, and there were always observers - any of the host country's citizens who had sufficient influence for the privilege. The observers, these days, in almost every country they visited, were put in an adjacent room, with an intervening wall, transparent from their side, but nearly opaque from the workroom. They could see and hear everything that went on in the workroom, but those in the workroom could not hear them and could barely see them, though they knew they were there, of course.

There was always a healer, Healer Tony Pertwee at that time. A healer's official duty was to supervise, as Bellamy was not a qualified healer. But the healer was also supposed to keep a guard on the health of the indispensable man, and treat any injuries incurred by either Bellamy or by any other members of the team.

Wizarding healing was very different from medj doctoring, and the illnesses of Anirage tended to vary from that of Medjkind. Wizards were more prone to fatal heart attacks, also cancer, and brain aneurisms were not uncommon. On the other hand, they were very resistant to infections of all types, and the annual REF injections, for instance, that were universal and routine among Medjkind to guard against venereal disease, were quite unnecessary among wizardry. It worked out about even, and overall longevity was quite similar.

There was a break in scheduled work for a month after Norway. Negotiations were proceeding for work in Germany, but Bellamy suspected that the German Ministry was paying only lip service to the ban on duelling, and he'd urged Nick McIntyre, the Head of the Department of International Cooperation, to try and get them to promise a greater curb on the practice. Meantime, he did a few days' work at the British Ministry, but mostly enjoyed the balmy weather of spring.

Bellamy loved spring. There was a flock of sheep on his property, on agistment, and every year, they had the privilege of the sight of new lambs playing. There were always a few mares foaling, too. There were two grey Andalusian mares, who were sometimes mated to a high quality Andalasian stallion owned by Paul, and sometimes mated to a small, pleasant natured pony stallion, that lived not far away. The goodlooking ponies resulting from that type of cross, were ridden by the children of the estate.

Victor was in charge of the horses - the breeding mares, usually a few young horses, the riding horses and ponies, and a large number of retired, old horses, brood mares mostly, from both the Andalusian and Line of Sheba studs.

Pat strolled in the gardens, gave occasional lectures at Oxford University, where she had connections, and spent hours reading and researching, in the large library if the weather was bad, but often in the garden when it was fine. The children of the estate, including Lesley and Mary, went every weekday to Paul and Helena's place, where Helena gave them some needed schooling. Earlier children had gone to the local primary school, and there had been little trouble until young Margaret Barnes lost her temper one day. The accidental magical explosion had been spectacular, if mystifying, to the medj teachers. After that, it was deemed more prudent to keep the young wizards and witches separate from Medjkind.

Another routine activity was the teaching and practice of defence spells. All the staff participated, whether cooks, secretaries or gardeners. For those without magic, such as Victor and Pat, there was shooting practice, with rifles and with handguns. Mostly, the family and staff that lived on the estate led a pleasant and privileged life, but there was a price to pay. Always, there were people who thought that the great wizard should die, and his family and staff could be at risk as well. Bellamy had never asked this of his staff, and hadn't even been told to begin with. It had started years before, after a large raid, which left an employee dead and Bellamy badly wounded.

On one balmy, slightly breezy day, with the scent of flowers and new growth filling the air, Diane Abercrombie, Minister for Magic, and another of Bellamy's descendants, lay down her head on her desk, and died. It was a large funeral, as she'd been given the honour of a Ministerial Merlinus funeral. And even here, Pat and Bellamy were flanked by bodyguards.

Meantime, the German Ministry promised faithfully that the ban on duelling would be rigorously enforced, and the trip was arranged for the second two weeks in June. A week in Germany, then a week in Sweden, then some time off again. The Swedes had also been reluctant to abandon their passion for duelling.

On the designated Monday, Bellamy presented himself to the room near the Transport Bay, where the team habitually assembled for work. They'd be using the Ministry's own private plane, with a medj pilot, who never knew that his passengers were anything other than businessmen. It was too far for any of them except Bellamy to apparate. And besides, there was luggage. Dieter, Kupec, Scott, Jeremy and Peter, the aurors, all of them big men, Kupec very big, at six feet, six, and shiny black. Scott and Jeremy looked a matched pair, tall and athletic, though Scott had red hair, and Jeremy's was brown. Peter was blonde and thickset, with an obviously muscular build. It was the same team that Bellamy had been assigned for a long time. He always felt more comfortable when he knew those around him.

The healer wasn't present yet, but instead of Tony, a stocky young man of middle height strode in. He had a shock of untidy black hair, and very dark eyes that seemed to dart around, taking in more from his surroundings than anyone else might. They stopped and lingered on Bellamy, and he strode over and grabbed his hand, shaking it vigorously. "Very pleased to meet you. I'm Healer Bryce McKenzie, assigned to you as Ministry Healer."

Bellamy looked rather stunned, before frowning. The least they could have done was to consult him if they were going to inflict on him a new healer. He'd become used to Tony, and he'd been frankly fond of Graham who'd been before him, but he didn't think he liked this one at all! But he gathered his manners, and reflected that, after all, he didn't have to submit to any examination if he didn't choose, though he'd allowed Graham and Tony to take their routine readings at the beginning and end of every week, as they always wanted. Graham had saved his life more than once, and poor Tony had been so timid about asking that he'd been sorry for him and had made no trouble.

Their luggage was quickly loaded, and the seven passengers took their seats on the aeroplane. Bryce looked nervous at first - like most wizards, he thought medj transport automatically dangerous. Bellamy was reading Pat's latest book, frowning over the difficult concepts. He didn't have the background to fully understand her work in advanced physics, though he was known as an intellectual and inventor in his own world.

Bryce, after the first ten minutes, was already becoming restless, pacing up and down the aisle, until Bellamy looked up, irritated. He was trying to concentrate.

Dieter watched them from the corner of his eye. He, too, thought that Bellamy should have been consulted if he was expected to allow a new healer to look after him. He had a suspicion that Bellamy had already taken a dislike to this young, and very energetic man.

Bryce saw his subject look up, plumped himself in the seat next to him, and started expatiating on the privilege it would be to look after a unique human being. Bellamy looked blacker and blacker, and when Bryce waved a book in front of him, 'A Medical Biography,' an unauthorised account of Bellamy's past illnesses and current deviations from the norm, and said how he couldn't wait to do a thorough examination just as soon as they landed, Dieter wasn't in the slightest bit surprised when Bellamy said coldly that he'd never agreed to be looked at by a new healer and had no intention of allowing it.

Bryce was thunderstruck, and stammered that he had to, he'd wanted this privilege for years, even before he'd qualified, that not many healers had a chance to look at a true mutation.

"A mutation!" Bellamy thundered, getting to his feet. "You're calling me a bloody mutation!"

Bryce was not a sensitive man. "Well, you are, aren't you? There are so many abnormalities in your physiology. You're not normal!"

Bellamy glared at him, so furious he could hardly speak. He took a deep breath, asked Dieter if they were at the usual hotel, and when Dieter cautiously said Yes, he said that he'd meet them there then. And to their stunned surprise, he disapparated.

Dieter swore. Disapparating from an aeroplane in flight had to be the stupidest act he'd ever witnessed. He glared at Bryce. "If he's not there, you'll be sorry you ever lived!"

Bryce was surprised. "But he _is_ a mutation. There's nothing in that to get upset about!" Dieter shook his head. Bryce looked around at five condemning pairs of eyes, and sat down.

Aside from a heavy landing, sprawling on the ground and bruising a knee, Bellamy arrived safely. He still boiled with fury. He advised Reception that he was there, so that Dieter wouldn't worry, and then walked to the nearby beach. He always loved the beach, and they arranged it for him whenever possible. By the time his bodyguards arrived, he was swimming, smoothly and rapidly stroking, a long way out to sea. He slowed down after a while, as his anger began to cool. He supposed he_ was_ a mutation, but he didn't like it being flung in his face like that. Maybe he should allow the examination and make all the readings normal. That'd mess him up.

Unfortunately, there were various obscure readings that he'd never bothered asking about. He didn't know what was normal. And he always hated being examined in any case. He'd refuse to be touched and ask for a different healer, or preferably none at all. What if he was injured, as he was periodically, in the course of his duties? Maybe he'd just give up the whole thing. He was sick of fixing the results of other people's stupidity in any case. He'd never intended to be a healer, and it wasn't his fault, he reckoned, if he was the only one who could break certain spells.

Bellamy swam on, his rhythmical stroke belying the churning emotions within. After a long time, he turned on his back, floating and staring at the sky. Finally, he heaved a sigh, and started swimming toward the shore, to the profound relief of Dieter, who'd been watching and waiting.

Bryce was silent over lunch. It was an uncomfortable meal. Afterward, Bryce said, "I'll just do the Niscos. You have to let me do that."

Bellamy didn't even spare him a glance. "No."

Bryce said, "I have the power to cancel the work if you refuse an examination."

Bellamy shrugged his shoulders. "Make up your mind then. If you cancel the work, I'm going walking. Or maybe home."

Dieter spoke up, "Bellamy, please be reasonable. He only wants the Niscos and you know you've always allowed that."

"Not always, and not any more. I may be a mutation, but I'm no longer being a cooperative one!" He rose. "Well? Are we working or not?"

Dieter said in a deliberately calming voice, "Of course we're working. And if we don't hurry, we'll be late."

They apparated to the wizarding area where they'd be working. It was their almost invariable practice, in order to keep their accommodation secret. They didn't want crowds being a nuisance around the hotel. It was the responsibility of the host country to keep the spectators, photographers and reporters at a distance, and they were mostly quite efficient. Bellamy was totally accustomed to the crowds, who always wanted a sight of the great wizard, and only scanned the faces briefly, feeling for threats, before following Dieter into the work room.

Bryce sat at the desk and made notes, as healers had always done. Bellamy raised his wand and cured patients, one by one, each shown in by the German Coordinator/translator.

It was quick, and none of them required more than a scant second of attention. He didn't even need to raise his wand, really. It was just another difference. Bellamy didn't need a wand to work magic, and he didn't need incantations, and nor did he need to know the specified wand movements for each spell. Magic worked differently for him. He just needed to know what he wanted, exert his will, and it happened. He shaved that way, a skill acquired when he was just sixteen and first learned that a wand wasn't necessary for him. Now, each morning, he'd pass casual hands over his cheeks and they would be smooth. He didn't really need the gesture, but he'd always done it that way, and now it was ingrained habit to the extent that he'd almost forgotten that he was using magic.

Dieter stayed in the workroom, wary of further sparks between Bryce and Bellamy. The great wizard was normally perfectly easy to get on with. It was the first time that Dieter had needed to worry about conflict within the ranks of his team.

"Afternoon tea, then half a dozen patients from overseas, and that's it for the day," said Bryce, who had the list. Bellamy nodded. He was still silent, morose.

The three next patients were three members of a family from Italy, one just a toddler, a child a little older, and the mother, all suffering from the same pig snout curse. "I do hope the culprit was punished," commented Bellamy, as he cured the family with a sweeping glance, though raising his wand as a matter of form.

The mother smiled. "He was sentenced to gaol with hard labour, without magic. It was to be for the term that we looked like this. We could have come to you a month ago, but I preferred to wait."

Bellamy grinned. "Fair enough!" Bryce, at his desk, noted that the great wizard did occasionally smile.

The next patient wore a showy red cape, with a badge. An American auror, wearing his uniform cape. His face and hands were covered with a reddened rash punctuated with inflamed boils, pimples and warts. It was a spell that often gave trouble, and Bellamy saw a lot of it. He raised his wand, and when nothing happened, raised the level of his magic. Those in the room felt a tingle in the air, a feeling a little frightening to the uninitiated. Still, nothing happened.

Bellamy glanced around the room. Dieter braced himself. He and Jeremy had seen it before, and the German Coordinator was not in the room. Dieter saw Bellamy cast a fleeting, sidelong glance at Bryce, but instead of warning him, as he always warned those who were new to the phenomenon, he only said casually to the patient, "I'll have to try a little harder, all you have to do is stay still."

Dieter glanced at Jeremy, who grinned and cast a malicious glance at the healer. He wondered if they were shortly to see the last of Bryce. Not everyone could tolerate the feeling of strong magic in the air, as they knew from experience. Even tough aurors had fainted when Bellamy did this.

Bellamy stood quite casually in front of his patient and raised his wand. His telepathic ability was now used to keep an awareness of his patient. If necessary, he would impose calm. He extended his magic to add a protective shield for himself, as well. He didn't know Bryce, and an interruption when he used the strong magic could hurt him badly.

And then it started. At first there was nothing, that gradually became almost nothing. The not quite feeling grew and grew. A humming in the air, but without true sound. The air appeared to vibrate with invisible light.

Bryce watched, apparently unmoved. He'd heard about this, but he'd also heard that the great wizard always warned those around him. Bryce was stubborn. He was dammed if he was going to allow Bellamy to frighten him into retreat. There was abrupt movement in the observers' room, as three of their number fled. The panic was contagious, and shortly there were none left in that room.

Bellamy wasn't concerned. He never liked being watched. To his disappointment, Bryce hadn't flinched. The patient, too, stood sturdy.

Lightning flickered around the room, running around the corners, and coating furniture, including Bryce's desk. At last, Bryce couldn't help himself, jumping and recoiling as his notes glowed.

Dieter and Jeremy looked at each other. Would Bellamy be satisfied now? The lightning vanished, the patient's skin cleared, and the feeling of the strong magic died from the air.

Bellamy smiled at his patient. "Well done. It's not easy to put up with that sort of feeling."

Bryce gave a quiet sigh of relief. It was over, and maybe the words were for him, too. The auror thanked Bellamy, and left at the unmistakable hint from Jeremy. There was a lot to do, no time for patients to waste the energy of the great wizard by lingering. Besides, he always became uncomfortable when thanked.

Bellamy was leaning against the wall, and was trembling. He'd had trembling attacks for very many years, one or two a day usually, and it normally meant nothing. But he'd also tremble if he was agitated, or when he'd put in a big effort, as now. Bryce regarded him narrowly, wondering if he dared to ask to do the Niscos now. He should not be over-tired, and patients could be postponed if necessary. But Dieter just glanced at him and waited. As soon as he stopped trembling, the next patient could come in. He often trembled after using the strong magic. Tony had never worried.

Bellamy raised his eyebrows as another big man was shown in, also wearing the red cape, and afflicted with the same skin disease as the previous.

"The last one's the same," Dieter commented. "Maybe we should put off one or two."

Bellamy said calmly, "I once used the strong magic six times in a row - three I can do, and just be a bit tired." He spared himself a little though, this time, not using the protective shield for himself, and certainly not bothering with lightning effects. Bellamy's telepathic sensitivity extended to a feeling for spells, including a hint of that witch or wizard who had inflicted it. This time, he cured the patient, and asked if it was the same wizard that had inflicted all three spells.

The patient nodded. "We've got it under control now, though," he said, automatically lying.

Bellamy detected the lie instantly. Although he never looked at minds without a good reason, it was almost impossible to successfully lie to him. He said nothing. People must sometimes be allowed their lies.

The third of the American aurors, and afterward, Bellamy had another trembling attack, and when he started walking, there was a momentary stagger to the left. It was another old, old problem. But it was only when he was sick or over-tired that his balance problem showed. Bryce said very firmly, "You've overtired yourself. I need to do the Niscos."

Bellamy said, "No." His tone was indifferent.

"Were you planning on apparating?" asked Dieter, wondering whether he should try and insist on Bellamy allowing the healer to check him.

But Bellamy said casually, "No, I'll be staying tonight."

Dieter nodded, relieved. It was dangerous to apparate when too tired. "I'll send a message to Pat then."

Bellamy thanked him, and made sure that Bryce wouldn't see any more of those betraying staggers.

He was content to stay quiet in the few hours before dinner, eating a large snack ordered from room service, and reading Pat's book again. He finally finished it, not really much enlightened, but with a renewed appreciation of his wife's brilliant intellect.

Bryce had been thinking - finally. The great wizard was known to be temperamental sometimes, though for so many years he'd been sufficiently contented, married to Pat, that the trait was hardly ever seen any more. The legend of the great wizard was embroidered with stories - that he liked ice-creams, and was apt to persuade his big, tough aurors to sit out in public and eat ice-creams too, that when not married, he was an incorrigible womaniser, that he couldn't be trusted with the female aurors, that he liked to get himself into fist fights...

At dinner, Bellamy chatted easily with the aurors. They were talking about the Verostic finals. Bellamy held that Germany's team was very solid, and that Spain's team displayed sporadic brilliance, but would probably go to pieces when it counted. Jeremy and Scott were strong in support of Spain, while Peter stood up for Germany, but only on the grounds of his German heritage. Unusually for a wizard, he was really not interested in Verostic.

Bryce was wondering how to work up to what he wanted to propose. There didn't seem any way. Finally, out of the blue, he said to Bellamy, "You really are a mutation, of course."

The aurors looked at the healer in stunned amazement. Bellamy regarded him coldly, drumming his fingers on the table. Dieter held his breath. Did Bryce realise, he wondered, that Bellamy had the capability of killing with a thought? He could probably make it like a heart attack, too, so that no-one could prove he'd done it. He reassured himself. Bellamy had a great deal of self-control.

Bellamy was quietly regarding Bryce. He wasn't going to do anything, of course, but he was amusing himself running through all the options of those unpleasant curses he'd broken in his life. There was the prickle curse. A man covered with prickles couldn't have sex. He smiled, wickedly. He'd quite like to inflict the prickle curse.

Bryce continued. "Yes, you're a mutation, and that's why I've been after this job ever since I qualified." He paused.

Bellamy's face grew cold, expressionless.

"You're not going to let me look at you, are you?"

Bellamy shook his head briefly, excused himself from the table, but only went to the dessert bar, and selected for himself a second dessert.

Scott hissed at Bryce to shut up, for goodness sake. Did he want to be turned into a slug? But Dieter was waiting. It was apparent to him that Bryce had something in mind. And when Bellamy finished his second dessert, Bryce leaned forward, and spoke again. "I'll fight you for it!"

Bellamy looked up, surprised, "I beg your pardon?"

Bryce expanded. "A fist fight. If I win, you let me be your healer, and cooperate in a reasonable fashion. If you win, I'll stand aside, and someone else can do the job of healer."

Bellamy was still surprised, but not tempted. He shrugged indifferently, and smiled at the waitress as she poured a coffee for him.

Bryce said, "Well?"

Bellamy answered, "One's no competition for me, especially a wizard. Hardly any wizards know how to fight."

"Don't be so sure," said Bryce. "I'm muggle-born, and I can fight extremely well. And you're tired, need glasses, and staggery from fatigue. I reckon I can take you."

Bellamy hesitated, before saying, almost automatically, "Not muggle-born, medj-born. Muggle is a word that contains contempt in its very sound. It should not be used."

Bryce shrugged impatiently. "Well? A fist fight, but you have to agree to the conditions."

Bellamy was beginning to smile. "If you win, I let you be my healer, but only if you don't plague me by fussing. If I win, you quit!"

Bryce was grinning. "But I want to do a thorough examination to begin with, tonight, and there'll be bruises to treat, no doubt."

Bellamy laughed. His eyes were gleaming. "How're you going to do any examination if you're flat on the floor?"

Dieter was laughing too. This was the oddest contract he'd ever heard negotiated. He didn't expect Bellamy to hurt Bryce much, but it had certainly put him in a better humour. He didn't make any attempt to prevent the barbarity of fist fighting. Instead, he turned to Jeremy. "Clear the sitting room we've been given. That'll be big enough. And we don't want interference."

"In a half hour," said Bryce, the healer suddenly making a resurgence. "Not too soon after the meal."

Bellamy nodded, still grinning. He hadn't had a fight for years except for being bashed up by a street gang a few months before, and that scarcely counted as he'd been colossally drunk at the time. He wouldn't use his left hand. That'd make it a bit more fair.

Not very long later, the furniture of the sitting room had been minimised, and put in a corner, and a silencing shield surrounded the room. Five aurors stood at the edge of the room, a very interested audience. A pair of German aurors guarded outside. They didn't know what the British were up to, but disapproved on principle.

Bellamy wore faded jeans, and a pair of ancient runners, Bryce wore shorts, and some very professional looking running shoes. Both of them were bare-chested. Bryce was taking the opportunity, almost automatically, to check Bellamy's physique until Bellamy interrupted with a growl. "_After_ the fight, _if _you win!"

Bryce smiled, "_After_ the fight, and I_ will_ win!" He had noted that Bellamy was looking thin, and remembered reading that he always lost weight very quickly when he used the strong magic.

Bryce himself had a more obviously muscular build than Bellamy, but Bellamy had a beautiful body, broad shouldered, and strong armed, with fine definition of muscle. A long white scar stretched down his tanned back, from a knife wound a very long time ago. There were other scars. In his black hair, currently pulled back in a pony tail, there were white strands, the result of past traumas.

"Ready?" Dieter asked.

"Ready," Bryce said.

Bellamy only nodded. He stood casually, his left hand dangled at his side, but his right was raised and balled in a loose fist.

Bryce took him by surprise, launching a fast and aggressive attack that had him dodging away, twisting to avoid being too heavily struck. He hadn't mentioned that he wasn't planning on using his left hand, and Dieter was the first to notice that it wasn't raised, sometimes tucked into his pocket as he continued to dodge, lightning fast, and sometimes just lowered by his side.

Bryce was good, Bellamy was noting, and he laughed with a sheer delight. He still hadn't tried to hit, just twisting and dodging as Bryce pressed his attack. He was very fast. A glancing blow to his side, and Bellamy took advantage of Bryce's momentary loss of balance, and hit him, quite gently, on the jaw. He didn't want it to finish too soon.

Bryce stepped back, beginning to realise that Bellamy wasn't just good, he was extremely good. For a moment, the two men circled. Bryce was panting. Bellamy suddenly staggered. He'd forgotten that he was a bit tired. Bryce shot forward a fist and Bellamy's glasses shattered. This often happened when he fought, but the sharpening of senses when in a fight meant that it was less of a disadvantage than would be expected, and he was able to avoid the follow-up attack without any great problem. Jeremy at the side, pointed his wand, and the dropped glasses came to him and were repaired.

Bellamy's head was spinning. He had no endurance tonight. He'd best finish. Bryce suddenly found himself hard-pressed, and had to move very fast in order to avoid taking heavy punishment. Bellamy was finding it harder to keep his balance, but his right fist was now being very effective.

Bryce launched another aggressive attack. It was the best way to defend himself. Bellamy took a heavy blow to the side, but Bryce had left himself open, and Bellamy's hard fist knocked him down.

He was slow to get up, and Dieter stepped forward. "Enough. Bellamy has won. We don't want anyone getting really hurt."

Bryce, on the floor, managed to sit, but looked dazed. Bellamy was pale, and was staggering again. It was finished. He shook his head. Blackness was threatening to overtake him. Dieter picked up one of the tiny chairs, poked his wand at it, and set the now full size chair down next to Bellamy, who collapsed into it gratefully. Jeremy handed him his glasses, and methodically set the room to rights.

Bellamy looked blearily at Bryce, who looked back, just as blearily. "Good fight."

Bryce nodded, but clutched an apparently sore head at the gesture. Bellamy's head was beginning to clear. It was only fatigue. His adversary was looking dejected, sitting too, obviously beginning to feel his bruises. He had a lot more bruises than his opponent.

Dieter was prepared, and now took out a bottle of livid purple, anti-bruising lotion. He started dabbing it on the bruises of the healer. The purple colour lingered only a few minutes, and then vanished, taking most of the discolouration and the pain of the bruise with it. Bellamy spoke quite suddenly. "I reckon you can be my healer, if that's what you want."

Bryce's look brightened considerably, and his bumptiousness made a miraculous return. "Report to my room straight after breakfast tomorrow then. We'll do the examination then."

Bellamy frowned. He was already regretting his impulse. Just because the man had given him a good fight didn't mean he liked him. Swiftly, Dieter distracted him by dabbing the lotion on a nasty bruise on his chest. Bellamy smiled at his friend. "I wouldn't mind another coffee."

Dieter grinned. "I'll call room service."

The next morning, Bellamy was bitterly regretting the generous impulse that had led to his making the impulsive offer. Tact seemed totally unknown to Bryce, who started by crowing delightedly over the LV reading, seeming amazed that what he'd been told was really true, and showing his utter delight more and more with every abnormal reading. By the time Bryce finished, and Bellamy started work, his brow was thunderous. Dieter took one look at him, and decided that Bryce really had to be spoken to. If he'd just do his work and not try and discuss his fascinating results, Bellamy might tolerate him better.

There was no-one that day that needed the strong magic, to everyone's relief, although there were several Americans again added to the list at the end of the day, and all but one of those needed that slight extra effort felt as a tingle in the air. Bellamy felt something else. The spell was not by the same wizard as the previous day, but there was a similarity to the feel. He wondered if there were brothers operating.

Grudgingly, Bellamy allowed Bryce to check the Niscos and weight at the end of the day, before he apparated to return home. The Niscos were the routine measure used by all healers, the LV, a general measure of 'life vigour,' and an energy reading, which would tell the healer if the subject was particularly tired or ill, in this case, if Bellamy was too tired to risk apparating. Dieter had spoken to Bryce and the healer didn't try and discuss his results, only thanking Bellamy for his cooperation. Bellamy shrugged, wishing the healer to oblivion, and trying not to show his acute dislike. The friendly feeling produced by the fight hadn't lasted long.

He didn't tell his wife about the fight. He was rather ashamed of himself, and sometimes thought that he should try and act with a bit more dignity. He was 'the great wizard,' after all. On the other hand, he thought to himself, there were always some to whom he was 'Monster,' or 'The Freak.' And now, it seemed, he was a mutation. He still cringed at that word, though he'd long become accustomed to 'Monster.'

The rest of the week, and the next, in Sweden, went smoothly, and Bryce prudently refrained from asking any more than routine measurements at the beginning and end of each week, and that was a mere matter of touching a couple of sensors to the back of his hand, which took seconds.

***chapter end***


	3. Chapter 3

_Part 1/__Chapter 3: _

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling._

With Susan home again for the school holidays, Pat decreed that Bellamy have a two month break. There were a lot fewer patients for him these days, and there was no need for him to work continuously. They went on a Pacific Island cruise for six weeks, as Pat loved cruises, and the girls thought it a wonderful idea.

There was a pilgrimage to make. When the ship visited Tahiti, the family made a special boat trip to the nearby tiny island of Noonga Tuku, where Bellamy's daughter, Beth, had lived a long life, and finally been killed as a witch by the inhabitants. Bellamy had left an immense stone statue, which they found surrounded by children. Enchantments ensured that none of the islanders alive when Beth was killed, would ever be able to approach it. But others could, and children who'd been born since, could. Naughty children could stand behind the open borders of the property and defy their frustrated parents who couldn't approach.

Bellamy grinned when he understood what had happened. He hadn't planned it as a sanctuary for naughty children, but he was amused.

Only Susan wanted to go with him when he pointed to a place high on the mountain. "It's the ancient god Noonga," he explained, "And it still has magic." As he and Susan climbed, he told her about her half sister, Beth. "She was good, compassionate, and very wise. She gave comfort," he said. "They killed her because she was different."

Susan said, between puffs, "It's dangerous to be different, isn't it?"

Her father replied, rather sadly, "It can be very dangerous." And added, "It's why wizardry does their utmost to keep a low profile among Medjkind. There's not that many of us. A determined effort could kill us off."

Susan nodded gravely, though she was red-faced with the effort of the steep climb.

They sat at the top for a while, at the feet of the vine covered god statue. Bellamy smiled at his daughter. She had black hair, like his own, a vivid, mobile face, and very dark eyes. "Can you feel the magic on the god?" he asked.

Susan looked, and after a moment, said uncertainly, "I don't know... Maybe there's something..."

Bellamy looked up at the blind eyes of the statue that stared across its island. "It's very ancient, and it won't hurt anybody, but there's still the feeling of magic."

Susan lay on the grass and looked at the sky. After a moment, Bellamy stripped off his sweat soaked shirt, and he, too, lay on the grass. He liked this feeling, that all around him was living, and being. He could touch life through his bare skin.

Susan loved being alone with her father. It was special. She knew that he always tried to spend some time alone with each of his daughters, but she was convinced that Lesley and Mary didn't feel as she did about him. There was something in her that was like him, she thought, though she was pretty sure she didn't have any great talent for magic.

"Have you ever been in a Christian Church?" she asked her father.

Bellamy grinned. "When I was a small child, I went regularly with my aunt and uncle, who raised me. I think they were trying to ensure I didn't grow up like my freakish parents."

"What was your childhood like? They were Medj, weren't they?"

Bellamy nodded, silent for a moment. What was his childhood like? At last, he said, "I was small and skinny, and always bullied." But then he pulled himself to his feet, extended a hand to his daughter, and said it was time to return.

Pat was annoyed with them when they returned. She'd wandered the village, and talked to the priest who ran the small mission hospital, but time was beginning to be short. Bellamy kissed her and apologised, and then whispered something in her ear that had her smiling. Lesley winked at Susan. It gave them a good feeling to see their parents still so much in love.

The different characteristics of his daughters were shown clearly on that cruise. Lesley and Mary were always together, and not interested in joining in the activities that the Games Director organised. They were happy for their father to partner them at dancing lessons, though. Susan, on the other hand, was all over the ship. She had her wand with her always, so Bellamy was not afraid that she would find herself in any trouble she couldn't deal with. In any case, they all knew that he would hear a telepathic cry for help, and could apparate instantly to their side.

On their return, it was time to equip Lesley to start at Hogwarts.How often had he done this now? he wondered, sending off a son or daughter, to find their feet in the sometimes turbulent world of a wizarding school. Julia, Adam Bourne, though he'd been a stepson, twins Margaret and Victoria, then James, later Beth, and later still, Adrian. And now there was a new family, Susan, Lesley, and next year, there would be young Mary. He smiled to himself. He was a lucky man. He'd had so much living.

There was an intriguing letter for Bellamy. Juana Stonehouse, from New Zealand, was asking if she and her sister, Lucasta, could try and learn to break spells, as the great wizard did. They claimed to be able to make spells themselves that no-one else could break, but had not had a chance to try and break curses either in New Zealand or in Australia, as people just didn't do that sort of thing there. In brackets, Juana then want on to say that Bellamy was rumoured to be their great grandfather, but it had never been acknowledged. Family tree enclosed, she said, 'in case you know something we don't.'

Alison, the secretary, had read the letter, as she read nearly every letter that came to Bellamy. She dealt with most of it without any need to confer with him. Bills, of course, thank you letters, love letters, hate letters, and invitations. Now she watched him as he studied the family tree. He was reddening, Alison noticed, with a great deal of amusement. But he only thanked her calmly, put the letter in his pocket, and left the office.

He didn't show Pat straight away, instead asking the four boys, the son of Peter and Gabrielle Barnes and the three sons of Kitty and Sidney Bourne, whether they wanted to join him for a ride on the moors. The boys jumped at the chance. They loved riding with the boss. Bellamy sent them to ask their parents, and when the ponies were saddled, suggested that Luke Bourne, the oldest, lead the way. Importantly, Luke took the lead. Twins, Ryan and Ross followed, and Oliver Barnes rode next to Bellamy.

Oliver had no magic. Bellamy had told his parents a month before, as he had learned to sense whether a person had magic in them. It was best to know early, before he had come to count on joining his friends at Hogwarts. Oliver knew now, and although he'd been upset for a while, Bellamy noticed him spending more time with Victor, who was also of wizarding parents, but without magic himself. They were sometimes called 'squibs,' those born of wizardry, who had no magic. They were rare, and often felt a great shame. But Oliver lived with Bellamy, who was married to a medj, and sometimes employed medj. Bellamy hoped that Oliver would stay with him. He liked the boy, and the Barnes had been with him so long now.

The boys had races, and did some jumping once they came to an area where ditches had been used to try and drain a wet patch. Bellamy watched, sitting leaning against one of the stone walls that were found in the area.

After a while, he pulled the letter from his pocket again. Catriona Riley and Sonia Riley, names shown clearly in the family tree. They'd be over seventy now. They were his daughters, though their mothers had never acknowledged it publicly. There was a subsequent marriage of cousins. The Stonehouse sisters were a little inbred.

He'd only met Catriona and Sonia that once, when they were babies. He smiled. They'd been such beautiful babies. He'd gone intending to be angry, as Nicki and Skye had quite deliberately tricked him into getting them pregnant. But they'd put both babies in his lap, and he'd lost his heart, as he always did with babies. And now, just maybe, these descendants of his might be able to learn to break spells. It was going to be embarrassing to tell Pat, though. Maybe when they had a spa, as they often did after dinner. The spa was so relaxing. It was easier to talk in the spa.

Badham quite suddenly nudged him. It seemed that the horse thought he'd stayed still long enough. The sun was getting low. He'd be in trouble if he stayed out with the children too late. He whistled, the four boys joined him, and they turned their horses toward home.

When Bellamy finally handed the letter over to Pat to look at a few days later, Mary was in bed, and Susan and Lesley were at Hogwarts. Pat read the letter as Bellamy studied the loungeroom wall, wondering that, for all his years, he still couldn't control his blushing.

Pat looked at him, and laughed, instantly and correctly interpreting the reason for the red face. "I take it that you _are_ their great grandfather."

Bellamy nodded. "Catriona and Sonia Riley are my daughters, and their mothers were identical twins. These sisters, Juana and Lucasta, are my descendants."

"They can't come here, the secrecy of the place is too important. Something else will have to be arranged." She spoke in an easy, matter-of-fact tone, and Bellamy was relieved. He'd always been so careful about contraception, and yet, it seemed, accidental children happened anyway. That particular pair was different, as their mothers were witches, and witches only ever had children they intended to have. But he was currently paying Child Support for fifteen year old Yvette, in France, and there had been others over the years. He'd never met Yvette. Her parents didn't want him to, and hadn't told her that her father was not her genetic sire. Her existence had only come to light a couple of years before, when Yvette had spoken to her medj parents about the great wizard, Henry Bellamy.

Bellamy couldn't understand how he wound up with illegitimate children. For a start, medj women had access to excellent contraception these days, and he'd _never_ chosen inexperienced women. But also, there was a spell that he always worked the instant after the woman was exposed to the risk of pregnancy. It vanished semen and vastly reduced the likelihood of pregnancy. And still, it happened. There had even been two or three times when the woman was supposed to have been infertile, and there had been a child anyway. And yet, to his knowledge, none of those accidental children had not been welcomed by their mothers, and none had grown up in anything less than a loving home.

Bellamy returned a letter to the Stonehouse girls, saying that he'd be glad to try and teach them to break spells, and to tell him when they would arrive, so that they could be met, and looked after. He didn't refer to any possible blood relationship. He didn't know what to say.

***chapter end***


	4. Chapter 4

_Part 1/__Chapter 4:_

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling._

Another two weeks spell-breaking in Turkey, and then in Austria, a week off, and it was time for a planned four weeks straight in America. It seemed there was a lot of demand in America, though no-one was saying why. Two weeks at Bellamy's favourite California Beach, and then two weeks in New York. Pat and Mary were coming, although Bellamy was surprised at the very large gathering of aurors that were to go with them. Dieter explained that the Americans were short of aurors, and as they were still overstaffed, they were providing more than usual, to guard the outer perimeter, and for crowd control. The Americans were paying.

Bellamy nodded, but he was frowning. Whatever was happening in America?

Bryce was pacing around, almost sending off sparks in his excess of energy. Pat and Mary regarded him with some surprise. Bellamy ignored him. He was beginning to be accustomed to him. Sisters Katrina and Therese, Bellamy's security guards, were going with them too. They had become close friends of Pat's, and Mary had known them all her life. The large group were happy, excited. It was something different, and there was always free time the first day. Bellamy mentioned his intention to go surfing if the conditions were at all suitable. Bryce looked at him speculatively. Maybe this would be an opportunity to become closer to him. He wished that Bellamy would talk to him more, maybe even confide in him. It was not a feeling of friendship, it was from the same burning curiosity about the mutation that always infuriated Bellamy.

On arrival, Pat and Mary were tired, but Bellamy was overjoyed to see a big surf, and shortly appeared from his room wearing swimmers, a towel over his shoulder, and a surfboard under his arm. Aurors were everywhere. The managers of the small Rose Hotel thought it some sort of religious convention, as so many of their guests wore capes, in spite of the heat. They looked impressive, mostly big men, with capes that enhanced their size and their look of authority. They'd booked the whole hotel as a security strategy.

"Hey, Bellamy, let's see your surfboard!" called Bryce.

Bellamy, surprised, showed him the surfboard.

"Conjured?" Bryce asked.

Bellamy nodded.

"A bit old-fashioned," said Bryce, rather scathingly. "I reckon you should vanish this, and come to the surf shop I saw outside, and we'll buy a new one each. Then we'll see if you can surf as well as you can fight."

Bellamy laughed. He was beginning to find Bryce amusing - whenever he was not being furious with him.

Not long later, Dieter, Scott and Jeremy watched as Bryce and Bellamy caught the same wave, on two new surfboards, laughing together, and having a wonderful time. They seemed to be the best of friends later, too, as they strode along the firm sand that afternoon, deep involved in discussion about Crioforiosis, and its likely effects on the Exopolis population. But suddenly they were facing each other, and the discussion had become a vehement argument, until there was some sort of a conclusion, and they were the best of friends again.

Dieter shook his head. He would never have expected the relationship to develop like this. He just hoped that Bryce would refrain from talking about mutations and abnormalities, so that it might continue in relative peace.

Pat and Mary were among the observers the following day. Pat liked the children to see what their father did. The usual processions of deformities, several of them so badly affected that they arrived on hospital trolleys. It was a hard day, twice strong magic resonated in the air, that horrible feeling that had Mary gripping her mother's arm very tight in fear. There were also several requiring that intensity of magic felt as a tingling in the air. And that was extra effort as well, even though nothing like the strong magic.

By the end of work that day, Pat and Mary were already gone, first shopping, and then sunbaking, with the escort of Therese and Katrina, as well as one of the aurors. There were sparks again between Bryce and Bellamy, as Bryce insisted on doing the Niscos claiming he could see that Bellamy was tired, and then forbidding him to apparate back to the hotel. Bellamy stared at him furiously. He felt perfectly all right, and he paced up and down the room for a moment, wondering whether to take any notice of him or not.

Dieter said calmly, "Just go with Kupec as a passenger, Bellamy. I'm sure you know how to be a passenger."

But Bellamy said, "I _hate_ being a passenger. I'll walk." As he passed out the door, he dropped Cloaking Magic over himself, and neither the aurors nor the watching spectators noticed him walk off alone down the street toward the hotel. Cloaking Magic, also called 'Don't Notice Me,' was common, easily performed, but only Bellamy could make it strong enough that aurors and sightseers, alert for his presence, would be deceived.

Dieter thought he must have apparated anyway, and was very annoyed. But when he charged him with it later that day, Bellamy denied it. "Only a 'Don't Notice Me' Charm, so don't get your knickers in a knot!"

Dieter blinked. "_What _did you say?"

"I said don't get your knickers in a knot!"

And as Dieter still looked confused, Bellamy explained further. "It's just an expression. It means don't get upset."

The following three days were also arduous, and when, on Friday, he'd already used the strong magic twice, and then there was a third case that required it, Bellamy paced the floor a few times, and then announced that he was going to try the telepathic cure. He hadn't done this for years, but it was a lot less effort than the strong magic, and didn't leave him as tired. On the other hand, patients often found it most unpleasant, because, while some didn't feel it, others could feel him intruding in their heads, and some became berserk with rage.

He asked the patient to wait in the waiting room, and then he explained the dangers and procedure to Jeremy and Scott, who would be in the room with him. What he would do, he said, was to find the trigger point inside the patient's mind, nudge it with just a touch of magic, and the person's body would know what it was supposed to be, and return him to that state.

"What Clarence Holmes used to do!" exclaimed Bryce.

Bellamy nodded.

"Clarence Holmes got himself murdered, didn't he?" asked Jeremy.

Bellamy nodded again, and said, "I'll pull back if the patient finds it too hard to bear, and he'll have to come back next week. I'm not doing any more of the strong magic this week."

Bryce nodded to himself. He'd begun taking daily readings, and noted that Bellamy was becoming more tired as the week progressed, although he'd chosen not to say anything. He didn't want any more tantrums from Bellamy over having him as a healer.

Bellamy explained very carefully to the patient what he'd be doing, and said that if he preferred, he could come back next week, and he'd probably then be able to work the pure power. Some didn't feel it at all, he said, others felt it almost as a mental rape. Sometimes patients became quite suddenly berserk with rage, and that was why he had to surrender his wand before Bellamy began. And, quite human, and non-threatening, Bellamy smiled at the man, who looked thoroughly daunted, and said that he didn't want to be hurt if it could be avoided. The man took a deep breath, and handed his wand to Jeremy, who was close.

Bryce was fascinated, feeling privileged. This was a different thing from the strong magic, and he didn't understand how Bellamy could be casually confident. But Bellamy only asked the patient if he was ready, dropped his head, looked blindly at the floor, and concentrated.

It seemed easier than when he'd last done it. Maybe his telepathic powers were continuing to develop. He was more aware of the patient's state of mind, but the patient, on the other hand, scarcely seemed to feel him. It took a while, but the patient's face quite suddenly lost its bizarre appearance, and became even handsome. Bellamy shook his head. It always took a moment to come to himself after deep concentration. The patient accepted back his wand, thanked him and left.

"It was easy," commented Bryce.

"Mmm," said Bellamy. "After doing that to a person, I've been scratched, choked, hit over the head with my own walking stick, and had my ribs booted in. Oh, and I've been cursed. It's only easy when the patient is able to accept it."

It was not the end of the day's work, although Bryce called an early afternoon tea break. He had developed a very great respect for Bellamy's skills as well as his power by now, although it would be forgotten again the moment they had a disagreement. They were spending quite a lot of their leisure time together to Dieter's amusement, but the relationship was still a fiery one.

Bellamy cured two more patients that day, without incident, using the telepathic cure. But he gave a sigh of relief when the last patient was shown out, and this time, he allowed Jeremy to apparate with him. He was too tired to do it himself, or bother walking. He was even too tired to object too strenuously when Bryce demanded a more thorough examination that usual. Instead, he put up with it, and afterwards went to his room and slept for two hours, until gently woken by Pat for dinner.

He felt better after dinner, and walked with Pat a while on the nearby beach. They were never entirely alone. They were always watched, the bodyguards never far away. Bellamy was accustomed to it. Pat, too, had become accustomed to it, as this was by no means the first time she'd been with Bellamy when he worked. "There's a show on tomorrow night, if you want," Pat mentioned.

"I think I'd rather just read and sunbake tomorrow," said Bellamy. "It's been a hard week."

Pat squeezed his arm. "I might take Mary, then. She'll like it."

"Is she getting bored?"

"She's like me. She's found a bookshop and is happy. Missing Lesley a bit, though."

The following day, Bellamy read and sunbaked, as intended, but he soon became more energetic, and surfed, swam, and strode along the beach for miles, arguing with Bryce about the likelihood that Jesus was a wizard. Bryce's quick and restless step matched Bellamy's, and Dieter routinely sent Jeremy and Scott with them. They were both tall and athletic, but even so, Scott laughed to Jeremy that they'd be getting top marks in the fitness tests due soon.

It became known among the wizarding fraternity where they were staying, and spectators started watching for them. But there were not too many, and they seemed to have the sense not to intrude too much and not to appear in wizard garb in medj areas. It could have been a lot worse. Bellamy felt no hint of a threat, and the aurors had not had the slightest trouble.

In the evening, Pat and Mary went to their show, accompanied by Therese and Larry. Katrina had twisted her ankle, and while Bryce had fixed it for her, it was still uncomfortable, and she now lounged in a chair, her feet on a conjured footstool. Several of the off duty aurors were gathered, and talking, as they did, _interminably, _Katrina thought, about Verostic. Bellamy had a book on his knee, but Katrina suddenly noticed that he was asleep. She got to her feet, limping slightly, and nudged him. "Time for bed, Boss," she said. Bellamy blinked at her, and got to his feet.

Bryce watched, surprised. Bellamy never did what _he_ said.

It was not yet midnight when Bellamy started into a nightmare. He didn't have nightmares very much these days, and when he did start to fret in his sleep, Pat was almost always able to soothe him with a few sleepy words and a touch. But Pat was still not home, and Peter and Otis, on guard outside, heard his panicked yell. A voice from over a hundred years ago had come back to him, _Tears, Harry?_ it said. And the voice was connected with the terror of being drugged, helpless and a prisoner. There had been torture too, that time.

Ten minutes later, he emerged from his room, fully dressed, but trembling and pale. "Just going for a walk for a bit," he said, in a pretend calm voice. He always wanted to walk when he'd had a nightmare, so that he could shake off the quivering upset. His bodyguards knew this occasionally happened, and were ready to go with him, Peter pausing only long enough to tell Dieter, still in their sitting room.

Dieter nodded. Bryce was still up as well, but when he rose, Dieter put up a restraining hand. "Let him alone, he'll just walk it off and be fine."

Reluctantly, Bryce sat down again. He wasn't going to bed now. He was curious about all aspects of his mutation, and wanted to see him in this condition, too.

Two hours later, when Bellamy returned, calm again, and ready for bed, he was greeted by Bryce, an array of sensors in hand, wanting to examine him. Just a few minutes later, the raised voices of the pair brought aurors running from all directions, looking for the source of the disturbance. It was just Bryce and Bellamy glaring at each other, as they did at least three times a day, Dieter thought.

Pat appeared from the bedroom, in her dressing gown, "Henry?"

Bellamy blushed, and apologised. He gave a resentful glance at Bryce, "It was only this clown, pestering me again."

Bryce was obviously ready to continue the argument, but Dieter intervened, and reminded Bryce that he'd agreed not to fuss. Bryce said indignantly that he wasn't fussing, and anyway, he'd said no such thing. Dieter raised an eyebrow. Bryce stopped arguing, but muttered under his breath as he went off to his room.

Yet, the following day, the pair were surfing together, laughing together, enjoying themselves together. Pat and Dieter looked at each other. Dieter shook his head, and Pat shrugged.

The second week was as strenuous as the first. There were so many patients that required more work than normal, and one evening, Pat caught Bellamy studying himself in the mirror. She was surprised, and Bellamy explained. "I thought I must be getting physically older, as there's so many that are an effort."

Pat suggested she ask Bryce if there were any indications of ageing or illness, but Bellamy said firmly that he'd never ask Bryce anything. He'd only be told again how he was a mutation.

"A mutation!" exclaimed Pat. "Is that what he says?"

Bellamy shrugged. "I suppose I am, he says so."

Pat said thoughtfully, "A mutation is just a difference from the norm, it's not an insult."

Bellamy smiled, and suddenly felt better about it. "No, I guess it's not."

Several times, Bellamy worked the telepathic cure that week. He'd almost stopped using the strong magic. There never seemed to be time to recover his energies. Bryce was checking him every day, and twice conferred with Dieter. The workload was too great.

Dieter asked cautiously, "Is he sick, or even losing his power?"

Bryce shook his head, positively. "I think they're just more difficult patients than normal."

At dinner Friday evening, Dieter casually said something about an unusual lot of patients.

Bellamy frowned. "I think it's the same group of people doing most of them, certainly nearly all the difficult ones. I think a family. You should try and get some information out of the Americans. There could he a particularly powerful family group active." He glanced at Bryce, and said, "Bryce should investigate. He might find a few more _mutations!_"

Bryce looked suddenly eager, and Bellamy laughed. "On the other hand, he might find himself cursed. If I were not such a sublimely tolerant man myself, it would already have happened!" They all grinned at that, though they had to admit there'd been no fireworks so far that day.

As they sat over coffee, Rudolph, the American Coordinator, appeared. Dieter rose and joined him. Bellamy was relaxing. Thank goodness the week was over, he was thinking. Whether they were special patients or he was just getting old, he wouldn't be able to sustain this effort for much longer. Dieter reappeared, Rudolph looking embarrassed behind him. "Three more tomorrow. Do you reckon you can do it?"

Bellamy sighed. "I suppose."

Dieter nodded routinely. "We'll fly to New York Sunday, as planned, and start again Monday."

"I hope they're a bit easier in New York," said Bellamy.

Bryce was frowning. Bellamy was getting too tired. But there were only three. He supposed he could manage that. Still, the way it had been going, he'd have to start exercising his authority as the healer, and postpone work.

Pat had a bad night that night. Bellamy was over-tired, and again and again, he started into nightmares, disturbing Pat and needing her touch and voice to be quiet again. She knew he probably wouldn't even remember in the morning, but she would.

There had been so little trouble so far with the telepathic cures that the aurors had become a little blasé, forgetting Bellamy's warnings. The three patients Saturday morning all had that nasty skin disease, that so often gave trouble.

Three times, Bellamy carefully prepared the patient, dropped his head, and concentrated. Three times, the patient was cured, but the last time, the patient flew into action just as Bellamy pulled himself back from his mind, grabbed a chair, and crashed it over his head, dazing him. He then used the broken chair to deflect Scott's stun spell, and, with berserk speed, hit Jeremy viciously on the hand that held his wand. The hand was broken, and Jeremy dropped his wand. Grabbing the wand himself, the American stunned Scott, and then disarmed Bryce who'd risen from his chair behind the desk, and also pulled his wand.

He had time for his principal target then, and delivered a ferocious kick to Bellamy, who was shaking his head, and trying to pull himself from the floor. The chair was swung again. Bellamy raised an arm defensively, which resulted in a broken arm rather than a broken skull, but the chair was hanging, too, shattered.

The man started kicking again, with a berserk strength.

Bryce launched himself at the man, pulling him away from Bellamy, and with the brief reprieve from attack, Bellamy was able to gather himself sufficiently to use his magic to stun his patient. In pain from broken ribs and arm, and half dazed, Bellamy closed his eyes.

Bryce looked around, bewildered. The waiting room was empty, and Bryce had to go further to whistle up help.

It wasn't long coming, though Dieter blinked at the sight of his two highly trained aurors stunned on the floor, as well as Bellamy with his eyes shut and a frown of pain on his face. But Bryce was good, touching gently, and healing the broken arm, before vanishing Bellamy's shirt, not attempting to move him, but running his hands very gently down the broken ribs, and muttering the spell that had the rib cage re-forming itself into the correct shape, momentarily increasing the pain, but then mending. The pain immediately lessened, and Bellamy looked blearily at his healer and said, "Thanks, mate."

The stunned patient was put into the hands of the only American auror who seemed to be around. "He's one of ours," he said. "He's an auror."

Dieter said coldly, "Next time, warn us. Aurors can be dangerous."

Bellamy was left alone for a few minutes, and began to feel a little less wrecked. Scott and Jeremy had already been revived, though a glance at Dieter's condemning face had them feeling as if they'd rather stay stunned. Jeremy's broken hand was mended by Bryce, who laid it carefully on his desk, and pressed on broken bones to ensure correct placement. Precision was needed, as each of three broken bones within the hand were healed one by one.

Bellamy still lay on the floor, disinclined to move. He was pleased that his arm had been more simple to mend, as Jeremy was looking very white with the pain by the time Bryce was finished. But then he carefully flexed his fingers, and said that it seemed fine.

Bryce looked back at Bellamy, who supposed he couldn't lie on the floor forever, and pulled himself to his feet, a hand on the wall, helping him keep his balance. Carefully and slowly, he drew his wand, and conjured a cane. He felt very rocky. The room was protected by an anti-disapparation spell, so Scott went to his side, said that they'd just have to walk outside, and then he'd take him back to his room. Bellamy nodded slightly. His eyesight seemed to be coming and going, and he raised a hand to his face to make sure he was wearing his glasses.

Bryce refrained from pestering him now he was truly unwell, only taking a few readings with his sensors, and leaving him to recover in bed.

Dieter told Pat that he'd had a slight accident, and she said calmly, "Nearly killed again, I suppose. I don't know how many times that makes."

Dieter smiled. "It's not that bad. Bryce reckons it's mostly just exhaustion. He's worn out, more than anything else, though he was hit and kicked as well."

Bellamy was up by lunch time, hungry. As Bryce's notes showed, he'd almost continually lost weight since starting work a fortnight ago. Bryce had confirmed for himself that he lost weight very quickly when he used the strong magic, but the healer thought he was losing weight because of over-work, as well. He was looking distinctly thin, now.

Jeremy was fine by lunch, only flexing his fingers again rather stiffly. Bellamy, too, was moving cautiously. There was residual soreness in his side, though his arm seemed as good as new. The American Coordinator had conveyed heartfelt apologies from the auror who had inflicted the damage, and asked anxiously whether the English thought he should be charged with the assault. But Dieter only glanced at Bellamy, and shook his head. Bellamy had said it before, a person subjected to the telepathic cure was not responsible for his actions.

Bellamy didn't surf or swim or walk that afternoon, content to sit still, and be waited upon. Mary took him under her wing, and he wound up with rather more attention than he really wanted. But Mary was dear to him, and he wouldn't hurt her feelings. She even read to him for a while, pleased with herself when she noticed he'd dropped off to sleep. She crept away, and importantly told Scott, the nearest bodyguard, that he was not to be disturbed. Scott nodded gravely, smiling only to himself.

But Bellamy always recovered quickly, and was out walking on the beach before breakfast the following morning, to the surprise of Bryce when he was told. Bellamy was no longer objecting to Bryce taking his readings when he wanted, only giving him the routine frown of irritation he'd bestowed on all the Ministry healers who'd gone before him.

***chapter end***


	5. Chapter 5

_Part 1/__Chapter 5: _

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling._

Bellamy and Pat had a large suite in the enormous New York hotel. Mary was in the next room. There had been a few spectators in the foyer, but the large aurors surrounded him so closely as they walked through that Bellamy hadn't even seen them. No activities had been planned, though there were shops on the ground floor if they wanted, and a swimming pool and gymnasium on the top floor. There was a glassed in lookout dome, too, from where they could see out over the city. Pat took Mary up to have a look, followed by the two aurors assigned, as well as both Katrina and Therese. Bellamy's family, as well as Bellamy himself, had very heavy protection.

Bellamy was still not his energetic self, and was only sitting in one of the two large sitting rooms allotted to the group. There were some of the aurors he knew only slightly, and he was taking the opportunity to know them better.

They were pleased that he spoke to them. He was the great wizard. He was held in awe. And further, purely as a practical measure of self-defence, if an auror knew the great wizard well enough, and found himself in trouble, he could call him, 'Just shout in your mind,' as they'd been told, and he had the ability to apparate to him, and help. He'd helped several of the aurors that way over the years, two not so long ago, though it was absolutely not officially condoned. The aurors were supposed to look after Bellamy, not Bellamy look after the aurors. But when an auror was in dire trouble, he was not going to worry about the prospect of a rebuke from the boss!

Mary and Pat went out again that evening, on a tour especially arranged for the family of the great wizard. Bellamy went to bed early, tired.

The following morning, Mary asked to see her father work again, although what she really wanted was to see if there were souvenir stores, selling merchandise in honour of the visit of the great wizard, especially as he hadn't been for a few years. Pat had told her. It seemed so funny to his family that there were 'Bellamy' dolls sold, and 'Bellamy' T-shirts, and 'Bellamy' posters. The latest, Pat heard, was a book called, 'The Latest Scandals of a Scandalous Life,' although Bellamy hadn't done anything scandalous while she'd known him.

But when they arrived in the large square that fronted their work area, there were no souvenir stores, and hardly any people, except for the caped aurors scattered around, some close, some further away. Not as many as expected wore the bright red of the American force of aurors. Dieter was close to Bellamy, as Bellamy stopped dead. They could almost see his tension as he turned slowly around, as if he was feeling the air. For a long moment, he stayed stock still, staring out toward the entrance to the wizarding area.

The aurors were very tense now, too. Bellamy had a feeling for danger, even aside from his telepathic abilities. It was part of the legend. Four of the six aurors immediately surrounding the family drew their wands. Bellamy was nervous, therefore there was probably something to be nervous about. Slowly, carefully, Bellamy's eyes searched the area, even, quite methodically, scanning the sky. Not looking at her, Bellamy said, "Pat, I want you and Mary to go home to England straightaway."

Pat didn't argue. She'd never forgive herself if Mary was hurt because she didn't trust her husband. Dieter nodded. "We'll arrange it," and he turned to Jeremy with instructions. Four aurors closely surrounded Pat and Mary.

Bellamy kissed them both, and whispered to Pat that he'd come visit whenever he wasn't too tired. Mary was pale, frightened, clinging to her mother's arm. Bellamy touched her face reassuringly. "It's probably nothing. I just want you safe out of the way."

Businesslike, he spoke to Jeremy. "I'll take off the anti-apparation charm just from where you're standing, and just for a moment. You can disapparate from there. His wand was raised very briefly, and he nodded. There was a "One, two, three," and four aurors and two passengers vanished as they watched. The anti-apparation charm was restored, and with his acute feeling of danger pending, Bellamy reinforced it with his own magic, protecting the whole area. He put a time limit on it, though, so it didn't become a problem if, for some reason, he couldn't undo it himself. Or if he forgot. No-one else could undo one of his spells.

Again, he scanned his surroundings, spending minutes just looking at the rooms where he'd be working. Then he started walking again, although still, quite obviously, very alert.

Bryce was well ahead of him, already setting himself up at the desk. "Don't use the strong magic today," he instructed officiously. He'd done his checks earlier that morning. This time, Bellamy just nodded.

Dieter walked in, introducing Hugh Drysdale, the American Coordinator. Bellamy greeted him, and said bluntly, "You have to tell us what's going on. If we're in danger here, I want to know."

But the man only spluttered that everything was normal, not to worry.

Bellamy regarded him narrowly, and looked at Dieter. Dieter said calmly, "I'll tackle Roger, he's in charge of the aurors." He started to leave the room, and then turned back. "Do you think we should just leave?"

Bellamy shook his head. "I undertook to do the job, and I hate leaving a job unfinished." Hugh was relieved. His three children were affected, just because he'd refused to introduce a particular witch to Bellamy. His wife had been furious. Surely the great wizard could look after himself, and the proposed introduction was just a attractive young woman who looked Asian. What harm could she have done to Henry Bellamy?

Most unusually, there were no observers.

The children were first, and Bellamy again detected the feeling of that certain family. But they were straightforward, only needing a wave of his wand. He was relieved. He'd begun to have a sinking feeling whenever he felt the flavour of that family's magic. He didn't even know their names.

But then there was a long break, and Bellamy looked questioningly at Bryce, who had a copy of the list. Bryce shrugged. Bellamy went outside. Hugh was just outside the empty waiting room. Bellamy's eyes searched his surroundings again before asking Hugh what the matter was. "Maybe there was an error in communication," Hugh said. "They're not turning up."

Bellamy leaned against the outside wall, waiting. A single wizard appeared, was checked by one of the American aurors, and then escorted toward them. He was obviously a patient, victim of the Prickle Curse. Hugh checked him off on the list, and Bellamy waved his wand, curing the man, not bothering to take him into the workroom. The man thanked him courteously, but then almost scuttled away, looking around him nervously.

Bryce appeared beside Bellamy and Hugh, watching him go, and then abused Bellamy for doing a patient without the compulsory mediwizard present. Bellamy scarcely noticed him. Again, he almost seemed to be sniffing the air. Dieter was standing at the outer perimeter of the protected area, talking forcefully to the American Senior Auror, Roger Goodwin. It was obvious that things were not normal.

It was only when a half dozen patients arrived together that Bellamy returned to the workroom, and it began to seem more routine. The trickle of patients continued, none of them difficult. Bryce was marking them off his list as they were done, but there were many gaps. Patients, usually desperate to be cured, were staying away.

There were no threats apparent that day, and the work was very light, though the day was long. None of their patients were conveniently turning up early, so that they could have a short day. Instead, they arrived, if they arrived, just before their appointment was due, and hurried away very quickly, straight afterward.

Bellamy was less obviously tense as they returned to the hotel at the end of the day. He knew that Pat and Mary were home, as he'd checked. But the aurors were very alert, and, while Dieter had still not been able to get any information, he sent a very full report home. There was something very wrong here, and William Johannson, the head of the Auror Department, must know. Their new Minister for Magic, too, Blake McMillan.

Dieter didn't like the new Department Head much. Johannson had been an auror for twelve years, active in the worst of the turbulent years when Bellamy had been gone. But after a severe chest injury, he'd had to transfer to a different department, and had risen through the ranks away from the aurors. He'd been head of two different Ministry Departments before winning his current prestigious position, usually known simply as Chief Auror. Dieter wished he'd competed for it himself, rather than having Johannson get it. Johannson always seemed to speak of Bellamy with suspicion, and a portrait of the great wizard had recently been removed from the aurors' tea-room, and was now in a back corridor.

Bellamy visited Pat after dinner, secretly, disapparating from within his room. His ability to apparate such long distances was not widely known, and he hoped to keep it that way. And even if certain of his abilities were known, he might still live a very long time, and maybe people would forget. So he tried to always use a wand when doing magic, he tried never to display his ability to ignore anti-disapparation charms, he downplayed his telepathic ability, which, in any case, he deemed unethical to use without very good reason, and he pretended to do long apparations in steps. It worked to some extent. His telepathic abilities were largely unknown by most of the population, and even the aurors seldom remembered that he could know what they were thinking if he chose. They were amused, though, when he made sure to use a wand. They knew perfectly well it wasn't needed.

He was speaking about it to Pat, when they had a spa together. She smiled at him. "Dieter told me once, that you must be allowed to think you have some secrets left."

Bellamy laughed. "I don't think I have any secrets left from Dieter!" He put his head back against the headrest, relaxing in the bubbling hot water of the spa. It was so soothing. He remembered something. "I do, though."

Pat looked questioning, and Bellamy continued. "I bet he doesn't know I can turn into a hawk."

Pat was stunned. "You can turn into a hawk?"

"It was never common, but certain witches and wizards can turn into an animal. It's called being an animagus, but there are none left, I think. It's very dangerous, and I suspect there's no-one with the knowledge to teach it any more."

"You've never shown me that!"

Bellamy closed his eyes, feeling very relaxed. "I haven't done it for many years, and I don't fly well. It's like driving a car, always a tendency to veer to the left. That old balance problem." He opened his eyes. "I'll show you later, if you like."

Pat smiled. "I'd be very interested."

Later, before he joined her in bed, he transformed into a hawk that flew around the room once, and then perched on the bedhead, cocking his head, and looking at her with hawk eyes that somehow seemed still like the mischievous eyes of her husband.

Pat laughed, and held her hands out to him. He was back in the New York hotel before breakfast, though.

The next days continued with a similar pattern, although the feeling of danger receded for Bellamy. Twice before, the Khatabi Family had abducted a girl or young woman from a powerful family of wizards, and bred her to one of their own. But Mary was now hidden away again. Usually, of course, it was easier just to seduce a wizard and obtain the desired bloodlines that way. One of Bellamy's sons had been used that way, though the expected result was not obtained. Instead, the son of James had broken away when he was just a teenager, and spent his life in China.

Bellamy was returning to his home every night for a couple of hours, even though the time differences were a pest. The days were easy now, a full list of patients booked in, but only half of them turning up for their appointment. He was fully fit again, and used the strong magic when it was needed Thursday afternoon, as a matter of routine.

Friday was to be different. There were a dozen hospital patients in the morning, and Bellamy was to go to the hospital, rather than have the bedridden patients come to him. He'd relaxed a lot, and no longer felt that acute sense of pending danger. Taking their cue from him, the aurors were no longer expecting imminent trouble.

In the afternoon, he and Dieter were requested to be at a meeting with both the British and American Ministers for Magic, both Chief Aurors, and, no doubt, other Americans. Maybe they were to finally learn what was happening.

Friday's bedridden patients were standard to begin with. Four only needed a wave of the wand, and were left in the hands of hospital staff, as they recovered their composure as well as the use of their legs. A senior nurse showed them to the next small ward. Two men lay limp, staring at the ceiling. One was drooling. "We don't know what was done to them," she said. "They seem to have no mind left."

Bellamy frowned. He couldn't feel any spell on them. He used his wand to make a chair, and sat next to the first, holding his hand, feeling, concentrating.

"They were aurors," said Hugh, making him jump.

"Yes," said Bellamy. "It's difficult, would you mind being very quiet?"

Respectfully, they waited as Bellamy closed his eyes, seeking the feel of the spell. There were traces, but they were faint. He tried to feel a mind. It was as if the mind was wiped blank. There was no spell to reverse. There was no mind left. The auror would be better dead. And when he turned to the others, and said, "I can't do anything," his eyes were a touch wet. He had to explain. "The spell is not on him. It was used, did its damage, and is now gone. His mind is gone. It's like a spell is used to vanish a limb. You can't just reverse the spell, and the limb is restored. It's gone forever." He only briefly touched the other, and said, "This one's the same."

The next few cheered him up again, as although it was a vicious spell, it was reversible, and only needed a slightly raised intensity of magic. The last didn't even need that, though he could feel that all but one of these patients had been hit by different individuals of that same family. He suspected the two mindless ones, too, had been their victims, though the traces of the spell were so faint, he could not be sure. Eight of the hospital patients had been aurors, and another three were Ministry officials. Two of the afflicted aurors were English, who'd been lured to America with promises of higher pay, and more action. They'd been injured on duty. Bellamy supposed they'd be given medals. British aurors always got medals when they were injured on duty.

At lunch, Dieter commented, "No-one was pushing for an invitation to join us." Such invitations were usually refused, as Bellamy hated having to be polite to dignitaries. The excuse was that, when doing his work, he couldn't afford distractions. But there were always requests.

"Just another indication that something's wrong," said Peter. Peter and Kupec were the aurors working closest that week. They ate at the same time Bellamy did, while others watched, ever alert for threat.

"Those ones you failed," said Bryce. "Any idea what curse it was?"

"I didn't _fail _them," said Bellamy irritably. "I can't restore a mind that's been wiped, any more than I can make a dead man alive again!"

"Any idea what curse it was?" asked Bryce, totally unapologetic.

Bellamy stared into the distance for a moment, frowning. Suddenly, he shuddered convulsively and looked away. But when he spoke, he sounded perfectly calm. "I think it's a Japanese Curse. I've never seen it, but I've heard about it. It's called the Cha Keeyo Curse."

"The Cha Keeyo Curse!" exclaimed Bryce. "I've read about it. The victims never recover."

Bellamy nodded glumly. "They've got some nasty people around here. And they're powerful. I'm getting quite good at feeling their signature on the spells, and most of their spells need more work than usual. I suspect there's at least three different ones whose spells are particularly hard to break."

"Lucky we have you, then," said Kupec, casually. He sometimes thought the great wizard didn't fully understand how important he was.

Bellamy was reminded of something, and he smiled at Kupec. "There might be a couple more soon, with a bit of luck. There's a pair of sisters from New Zealand, arriving soon after Christmas. From the sound of it, they have more power than the norm, and are interested in trying to learn to break spells."

"Any relation to you, like Cissy Diefenberger was?" asked Bryce, eagerly.

Bellamy frowned at him, and was again irritable. "I'm not the only wizard in the world with a bit extra power than normal, you know, and for your information, I figure _nowhere_ on their family tree!"

"That means nothing!" said Bryce, "Everyone knows you leave byblows all over the place."

Bellamy rose from the table, opening and closing his mouth like a fish. How could that man be so totally blind to all conventions of manners? The fact that he was at least part right only made him more furious, and he suddenly swung around and stalked off across the square, forgetting to consider the bodyguards who now had to hurry after him.

They left him to simmer down for a while, leaning against a wall, and glowering. Dieter firmly told Bryce he wasn't needed any more that day, and that he should go back to the hotel, or do whatever else he wanted. Bryce chose to stay where the aurors were, because he thought it was probably safer, but at least he stayed away from Bellamy. It had finally dawned on him that he'd been just a touch rude.

When Dieter joined Bellamy, he leaned against the wall, too, and just waited. Bellamy sighed. "That _bloody_ man! I'll end up murdering him one day, I know!"

Dieter said calmly, "He certainly lacks tact."

Bellamy grinned sidelong. "Don't tell him, but he's dead right. They_ are_ related, and twice over."

Dieter laughed. Bellamy added, "Don't tell _anyone._ Even the girls themselves don't know, and it's a fair way back."

Dieter shook his head. "I won't tell anyone." But then he looked at his watch. "They're sending a Ministry car for us. You and me only at the meeting, and Kupec and Peter as bodyguards."

The sleek black car was very roomy, and arrived at the Ministry building in a ridiculously short time. Bellamy had never been in the American Ministry building. It was ornately and richly decorated. Maybe its staff felt safe within its shelter, as there were people everywhere, pointing and commenting as the great wizard passed, looking small and ordinary next to gigantic Kupec, and big, solid Peter.

Kupec and Peter were left outside the meeting room, while Dieter and Bellamy were admitted. Bellamy blinked. The room was large, three glittering chandeliers cast a bright light, and its four walls were covered with alternating panels of gold, and mother-of-pearl, separated by bright, red painted strips. Dieter winced at its showiness, but Bellamy smiled in sheer delight. The exuberance of colour pleased him immensely. And that red! He went across to the wall and gently touched it. It was that brilliant red-orange colour that always filled him with delight. He conjured shirts for himself of that colour, now and then, but Pat had a tendency to cover her eyes and forbid him to appear in public. Julie, before her, had been just the same.

He was spoken to twice before he noticed that introductions were being made. There was the American Minister for Magic, Vincent Reynolds, who was short and round, and wore an air of bonhomie. And then there was the head of their Auror Department, Hindel Renkin, tall, with black hair, and hollow cheeks. The British equivalents were there, too - Blake McMillan and William Johannson.

Bellamy greeted them courteously, as did Dieter, and they were shown to seats at the conference table. The table was covered with a deep green cloth, in some sort of slightly furry material, reeking of expensive luxury. In spite of the pleasant welcome, and the surroundings that pleased Bellamy with the lavishness of colour, he was beginning to feel uneasy. It was something to do with the assessing eyes on him, from Renkin, but also from Johannson and McMillan. Reynolds just beamed at him with a happiness that seemed not at all compatible with the problems they knew they were having.

Reynolds was almost gushing, how it was wonderful to have the great wizard in their country again, and what wonderful work he did, and how lucky it was that such a powerful wizard was law-abiding. Bellamy replied with a few smooth words, but his face had taken on a look of cool, expressionless composure. Dieter knew him very well, and recognised that face. Bellamy, for some reason, either thought he was under threat, or was acutely uncomfortable.

Bellamy was uneasy. The look of both Renkin and Johannson was cold. They were suspicious of him. He'd seen it before. There were some who thought that a powerful wizard was automatically dangerous. His eyes flicked to Blake McMillan, the new British Minister, whom he'd scarcely met. He wore the same look. And yet Reynolds beamed, and at last, said expansively, as coffees were set before them, and a lavish feed was arranged on the table, that they were having a few problems just lately, and that Hindel would tell them all about it.

"Certainly. In just a moment," said Renkin, waiting until the neatly uniformed waitresses left the room. Jugs of gently brewing coffee were left on a small side table.

"Yes, of course, security," boomed Reynolds. "One has to be very careful of security, Hindel's always telling me," and he waved an arm in a large gesture.

Bellamy felt Renkin's acute dislike for his Minister, though Renkin had shown it neither by gesture nor expression.

There were only the six of them in the room, and Renkin proceeded to give a full account of the problems they'd been having. For the first time, Bellamy heard the name - the Khatabi Family, quite recently arrived from Japan, although it was thought they had close ties in Morocco, as well. The most important of the group, he said, was Yiko Khatabi, aged one hundred and twenty, although there was rumoured to be a woman even older.

Bellamy quietly sipped his coffee. Besides those whom Bellamy had seen, other aurors were badly injured, and several had been killed.

"Fifteen!" suddenly boomed Reynolds, abruptly sounding angry. "Fifteen auror funerals in the last six months."

Johannson started asking questions, showing his shrewd appreciation of the problems that the Americans were facing. Unprincipled and powerful wizards were very hard to control. Bellamy still felt as if he was under surveillance, and wondered why he'd been brought here. This was more than the general briefing that he and Dieter had expected, and had been wanting ever since they arrived. A discussion followed, mostly between the Chief Aurors. Bellamy was silent, still wearing that cool face that gave nothing away. It was agreed that Britain would loan America fifteen aurors, conditional on fifteen being willing to volunteer. Bellamy thought of those aurors he'd seen today, including those who'd been rendered mindless. The British aurors were his friends, and although they were highly trained, they didn't have the power that he knew that the Khatabis did. They were brave though, and often frankly arrogant. They would leap at the challenge.

Bellamy's face still showed nothing, and Dieter wished he knew what he was thinking. It was like he was not the same man who laughed and argued and played.

Vincent Reynolds suddenly interrupted the discussion. "But that won't be necessary, if only the great wizard will do us a small favour."

Bellamy turned cool eyes on the man, and raised an eyebrow slightly.

Reynolds leaned forward eagerly. "You can kill from a distance. Our file says so. We want you to kill him for us."

Bellamy leaned back in his chair, and spoke slightly sneeringly, "And how _exactly_ am I supposed to be able to kill from a distance?"

Dieter glanced at him, and looked away. He knew that Bellamy did indeed have that ability, but he needed to have some contact such as another person who knew the subject.

Reynolds looked expectantly at Renkin, who spoke smoothly, but with a cold look in his eyes. _Monster,_ Bellamy felt his thought. While normally he chose not to look at another's mind, sometimes a thought was so emphatic that he would feel it anyway.

Renkin said, "We understand that your telepathic ability is such that you can sense a person from a great distance, and then you have the..." he paused slightly, "...ability.. to actually make that person stop living."

Bellamy regarded him coolly, finally saying in a voice as smooth as Renkin's. "It seems you have a vastly exaggerated opinion of my abilities. _No-one _can kill from a distance in that fashion."

Reynold's face fell ludicrously. Bellamy, still wearing the cool mask, rose from the table, and asked if anyone else wanted more coffee. No-one replied. He helped himself, turned, leaned against the wall, and looked at Reynolds. He spoke kindly. "I'm quite good at duelling though. If you can arrange for this man to face me and attack me, I can probably defeat him for you."

Renkin spoke with considerable asperity. "If we could get him into the open, we could deal with him ourselves."

Reynolds was still looking extremely disappointed, although Renkin, Johannson and even McMillan were looking at Bellamy with an obvious suspicion. Johannson finally spoke. "It is my understanding, also, that you can kill from a distance. We can arrange for you to meet someone who knows the subject."

"Even if I_ could_ kill from a distance," said the cool voice, "That would be an execution, and illegal. Have you forgotten your own laws?"

Reynolds suddenly had hope again. "If the Ministry says it's legal, then it's legal."

Bellamy looked into the distance, and spoke softly. "There are many stories about the great wizard. Some of them entertain me greatly." He looked back at his audience, and spoke gently. "You must not believe everything you hear, even if it's written in a file. I _cannot_ kill from a distance."

At last, they seemed convinced. Only Johannson still looked suspicious. Dieter was wearing almost the same expressionless mask that Bellamy had assumed from the first. Reynolds now had a look of settled gloom. But then he took a cream bun from the offerings on the table and cheered up again. Bellamy wondered how on earth the Americans had come to elect such a nincompoop.

Dieter broke the silence. "Could you grab me a coffee too, please Bellamy?"

Bellamy smiled at his friend, and prepared the coffee.

McMillan spoke to him in a dismissive voice. "Vincent and I still have business to discuss, but I think you and Auror Roche might be excused now."

Dieter put down his scarcely sipped coffee and rose. Bellamy said casually that it had been a pleasure to meet everyone, and left, relieved to find Kupec and Peter still reliably at the door, though there was no reason why they shouldn't have been. Dieter cast a glance at the impassive face of his friend, and remarked that it was to be a short week the following week, as demand was a lot less than expected. Bellamy nodded.

A half hour later, he was using the indoor pool at the hotel, smoothly stroking up and down the pool in an automatic action, as he thought about the problem of the Khatabi Family. Showing his ability by killing Yiko Khatabi, would only put him at more risk from his own people. He'd been threatened before by his own Ministry because they deemed him too powerful. But just as importantly, one killing would make little difference to the crime situation. There were several individuals that needed to be rendered harmless, not just one.

The Khatabis were looking for another chance at Bellamy. His wife had gone, and maybe now he'd be more easily seduced. Unlike the small hotel in California, the New York hotel was large, with many other guests. Five aurors were close to Bellamy as he methodically lapped the pool. They preferred him safely in his room, or tucked away in their private sitting room, but Bellamy needed the exercise, and he found the rhythm helped him think.

Najia Khatabi, barely sixteen, was young, attractive, and, although a virgin, had been carefully groomed for this job. Wearing a bright yellow bikini, vivid against her olive skin, she slipped into the swimming pool, and started fairly casually lapping the pool also. Bellamy didn't notice. He had every intention of going home after dinner for a couple of hours with his wife.

When Bellamy pulled himself from the pool, Najia watched him. She was excited. It would be no hardship to go to bed with this goodlooking young man, though, given her own way, she would have preferred not to have a baby for a long time yet. But the younger Khatabis were taught to revere their elders, and, above all, to be very obedient.

She followed him into the spa. He always enjoyed a spa. It was one of the rare times when he was content to be still. Aurors still lounged, pretending to be part of the scenery, and failing utterly. The big, often grim-faced men, were conspicuous, and medj guests were apt to wonder why the smaller man was so well guarded. But the bodyguards were no hindrance to Najia. She knew they wouldn't interfere if Bellamy chose to go to bed with her, though naturally, she would not be allowed to keep her wand. In any case, she was pretending to be medj. It was well known that the wizard preferred medj women, although so much of wizardry treated all of Medjkind with a total disdain.

Bellamy just sat, ignoring her, leaning his head back against the headrest and closing his eyes. She tried, "Lovely in the spa, isn't it?" Her voice was soft, and she spoke in a pretty accent. Bellamy didn't appear to hear. She said it again, more loudly, and he opened an eye, and murmured an assent.

Najia decided to take the direct route. She slipped around the spa until she sat next to him, then even closer until she was in contact. Bellamy stayed still, his eyes still closed, but suddenly very alert. It was a witch, and it was a Khatabi. He felt her mind. She didn't want to kill him, she wanted to seduce him. He kept his face immobile, though he was feeling rather shocked. She was just a child, he thought, but she'd been ordered to have his baby. She leaned even closer. "If you let me come to your room, I'll dance for you. I'm very good at dancing."

Jeremy had casually sauntered around the spa, and was close. He was stunned when Bellamy opened both eyes, smiled at the girl, and said that he'd enjoy that very much.

"Call me Salome," she said, in a low, intimate voice.

"Salome," repeated her target. It was only mid afternoon, but Najia had no intention of waiting until evening for the seduction. Conceiving a child is just as easy at three o'clock in the afternoon as it is after an evening's wining and dining.

Najia was very young, and, although she thought she should maybe start fondling or something while hands were concealed under bubbling water, she didn't quite know how to go about it. Bellamy solved the problem for her, murmuring, "I'm very impatient. Can we go now?"

Najia was suddenly breathless with nerves, and only nodded wordlessly. Bellamy was sorry for her, but he had every intention of using her.

After a detour to Najia's room to collect some things she said she needed, during which time a spell was quickly muttered, wand touching her own abdomen, Najia joined Bellamy who waited outside her room. Larry and Jeremy were close by as well, trying to pretend not to be there. Jeremy was concealing his shock. Seducing a young girl was not the normal habit of Bellamy, at least not when he was married. He didn't know about when he was single. But Larry didn't know him as well, and only eyed the pretty girl, feeling thoroughly jealous.

There was an awkward moment when Larry asked that Najia submit to a search. The bag she carried was handed to Jeremy, who surreptitiously used his wand to ensure nothing dangerous was concealed. Najia, for a moment, looked like she might bolt, but Bellamy said soothingly, "Please put up with them, they're just trying to look after me," and, when Najia still looked nervous, he added very gently, "Please?"

Larry nodded, and Jeremy handed back her bag, but his disapproval showed. Bellamy ignored him, only murmuring again to the slight girl, and opening the door for her. Even then, Larry went ahead, and checked the suite before leaving.

Najia was frightened again, but Bellamy only sat at a table, and asked if she would like something from the bar fridge. Najia agreed, her voice squeaking slightly. She was alone with a man for the first time in her life, and that wasn't all. She was supposed to let him have sex with her, and although she knew about it in theory, the imminent prospect was suddenly very frightening.

The small bottle of alcohol gave her back a little of her courage. He knew her better all the time, unashamedly prying. She'd been practising. She could dance, and she'd come prepared. Bellamy prompted her. She rose determinedly, set the small music player she carried on a table, and started the music. She vanished into the other room for a moment then, as Bellamy waited. He was not worried that he might succumb to the temptation of her. He had his wife, and wanted no other. She was only his avenue to her family.

But he caught his breath at her entrance. There was only a piece of filmy material around her hips, and she carried another that she held concealing her face. She waited, listening for a signal from the music. It was one of those wildly erotic, eastern dances, and she soon knew she had her audience. Bellamy's breath came quickly, and the girl moved with more and more passion and confidence, enjoying her power over the man. Bellamy was having difficulty remembering why he'd invited her, and shifted uncomfortably, crossing his legs.

The dance came to an end, the finale a blatant invitation. Bellamy said huskily, "Salome." The voice was uneven.

Larry was using an eavesdropping device outside the door. It was standard equipment for aurors. They had to make sure he wasn't being attacked, he said to Jeremy, though Jeremy was disapproving. All sound from the room abruptly ceased, as a silencing shield descended. Bellamy always used a silencing shield when he was with his wife, also. Larry straightened, put the tiny listening device back in his pocket, and grinned at his colleague. "Lucky bastard."

But Bellamy was only washing his face as the girl slipped naked into his bed. He was astounded at himself. He wanted her so much, and it wasn't as if she was using magic. Or maybe just the magic that all women have. She was just a child! Scarcely older than Susan! But it was only when he reminded himself that she was here for one purpose only, that he was to be used as a stud, that he was able to regain sufficient self control that he trusted himself to return to the bedroom, and sit on the bed. He started asking her questions, then.

He left her sleeping sweetly. She would remember that he had made love to her, and she would remember it just the way she had hopefully imagined it. Bellamy hadn't been specific when he told her what to remember.

***chapter end***


	6. Chapter 6

_Part 1/__Chapter 6:_

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling._

Five male Khatabis were in the room when Henry Bellamy abruptly appeared. Wands were whipped out, but only the youngest was fast enough even to raise it. All five were abruptly paralysed. Cautiously, Bellamy disarmed them as well.

They were all furious, totally unaccustomed to defeat, especially such an easy defeat. A vigorous man who looked far younger than his sixty years was almost succeeding in throwing off the spell that held him. Others were struggling. These were very powerful wizards.

Bellamy glanced at the door, and it was locked, and then looked at each one in turn, starting with those he deemed most dangerous. Each of them was tied, their bonds secure enough that even if Bellamy were to be distracted, they would still be helpless, as least for a little.

Yiko Khatabi was sitting calmly on the floor, his eyes boring into the great wizard. Bellamy jumped. The man was probing his mind. But when he tried to throw him out, there was resistance. Yiko was concentrating very hard, trying to overcome the will of this wizard who looked so young. They all knew who he was. His presence in New York, and his image, had been in the wizarding news almost daily. Yiko was reinforced. Another had joined him in waging the mental war against Bellamy.

Bellamy was surprised more than anything else. For so long he'd been so far beyond anyone else in power, mental and physical, that it had not occurred to him that he might be defeated. Luckily, only two of the wizards had that telepathic power, but father and son combined and battled. They were all sweating now, the silent mental battle waging as three younger Khatabis watched, and waited. Their paralysis vanished, as Bellamy found himself unable to hold it, his whole concentration centred on not being ignominiously defeated. The Khatabis hadn't been worrying about the presence of the great wizard, except that they knew that Riza wanted his bloodlines added to her breeding programme.

With a great effort, Bellamy stunned the younger wizard, and was then able to push Yiko from his mind. He looked at the old man with a great respect. The Americans had been right when he singled him out as the leader. Yiko looked calmly back. He was yellow-skinned, slant eyed, wrinkled. But he was very, very strong. Bellamy started doing what he came to do. It took more effort than he'd ever had to use when he did this. It was hypnosis, basically, talking silently direct to the man's mind. It was laced with magic, and Bellamy made that lacing a lot stronger than usual. He didn't want Yiko throwing it off.

The others had been silenced, and now only struggled against their bonds. Yiko would find his magic diminishing in power. Yiko would never again attack anyone, even if himself attacked. Yiko would find himself with a great desire to return to Japan. Yiko would totally forget the visit of Henry Bellamy. Yiko would not know that anything had happened to him or anyone else.

Then the next one, similar instructions, except that this one was to want to go to Morocco. The other three were sent to China, Russia, and Turkey. Broken up, the family would lose most of its power. There were two more men, arguing in another room. Bellamy dealt with them in the same way, without trouble.

Time for the women. The men and women of this family led mostly separate lives. Riza was Yiko's mother, but at the moment, she was in a hotel room next to Najia's, waiting for the child's return after her use of the great wizard. But Bellamy had not been used by the Khatabis, as Riza had intended. Instead, he had used little Najia, and he had a very good idea of who would be at the mansion, and where members of the family were likely to be.

Bellamy was very cautious as he tackled the women. There were several together, and he'd been nearly defeated by the men. If three of the women, for instance, could combine forces, as Yiko and the other had done, he might easily go down. But luckily Ishi and Sagirah had been fighting, and Annilie's pregnancy seemed to have drained her power. The women were left unable to attack anyone, although he did leave them with the capability of defending themselves if required. It was not the women who'd been bent on humiliating American wizardry. It was the men, and their only apparent purpose was to be feared. They were already as rich as anyone needed, and Riza and Ishi, the oldest ones, thought the men were really being rather foolish.

But the women, too, would not remember the visit of Henry Bellamy, and the women, too, were left with a desire to disperse. The Khatabi Family was being destroyed as a cohesive unit.

Bellamy left the women's quarters, paused, and felt. He didn't enter the children's area, only using his mental powers to feel who was there, and make sure there were no dangerous ones left. But the two male guards were nonentities, and the woman keeping an eye on the younger children seemed ordinary, too.

He staggered slightly with fatigue as he walked toward the exit, and was caught off balance when a burly boy in his teens dashed around a corner, chased by an agile youth who looked pure Arab. Laki had been sired by a former patient of Bellamy's who'd been subject to the telepathic cure, went berserk with rage, and then worked magic without a wand. It was a characteristic that Riza very much wanted to acquire for her own family, and Laki had a full sister and two half-brothers. The big American was apparently happy to act the stud, not that he'd ever known about his children, of course.

But now Laki, with instant alarm, and without going for his wand, put the bodybind curse on the great wizard, and Bellamy fell, helpless, swearing to himself. Laki and the other boy were yelling the alarm, and both now covered him with their wands. Bellamy exerted his will, silenced and immobilised both boys, and then freed himself. "Forget my presence!" he said, and the boys forgot his presence. But others were approaching swiftly, and, tired or not, he disapparated, reappearing next to the sleeping girl in his bed.

He sat for a while then, head drooping. It was dangerous to apparate when tired, but sometimes, it was a lot more dangerous not to.

Jeremy and Larry said nothing when Bellamy kissed Najia goodbye outside his room, and went to dinner. Riza was very happy with the girl, worked another spell, and gave instructions that she was to go back tonight. Bellamy was looking forward to an early night, still tired, and not planning on apparating home to see Pat, though he meant to tell her about the Khatabis. He couldn't tell the aurors, as they would tell Johannson, their boss, whom Bellamy didn't trust. The aurors had to believe that Najia was just a girlfriend. So when Najia knocked on the door, he had no choice but to admit her.

But while Najia slept softly in the large bed, and would remember that they'd made love, Bellamy tossed restlessly in a conjured single bed in the adjacent room, and thought himself very hard done by. He even imposed a silencing shield for an hour, knowing that the bodyguards would assume it was to cover the noises of sex.

Riza and Najia visited their home for a time on Saturday, not noticing anything different except that Lileah was scrutinising tourism brochures. It seemed she was thinking of visiting Spain, just for a holiday. Her three children would go with her. Yiko was having a daytime sleep. Someone mentioned that he was a bit tired. Riza kept Najia close to her, honouring her with her affection and approval. The matriarch was already planning to mate the new child to Laki, if it was a girl, though she was still considering a potential mate for a boy. It would have been Mary Bellamy, if they'd been able to get hold of her, but it was not worth trying to find the hidden home of the great wizard, and Britain's wizarding school was also very secure. Maybe Bellamy could be again seduced, but by someone else, and then the half siblings could be mated.

Saturday evening, as Bellamy, Dieter, Bryce, and aurors, Kupec and Peter gathered for dinner in the private dining room allotted to them, Bellamy swore to himself as he noticed Najia's hopeful face just outside the room. They were to go home early Wednesday afternoon. He couldn't wait. He was very tired of New York, with its problems.

Dieter narrowed his eyes at Najia's exotic look, and darted a suspicious look at Bellamy. He'd heard about her, of course, and had been surprised, but they were not there to guard Bellamy's morals, just his person. Bellamy merely introduced Najia to his companions, giving her assumed name, Kristy Bates. Najia smiled at him openly, innocently. "I thought we could have dinner together."

Bellamy smiled back, thinking he'd made a basic mistake. If he'd told her to remember their love-making as an unpleasant experience, she might not have been back. But maybe she would. She was doing what she was told, poor child. Again, that night, Najia thought they shared a bed, but this time, Bellamy went home to Pat, and stayed until it was early morning in New York, late morning in England.

Pat had a suggestion. Maybe Najia could be seduced. Not physically, but Bellamy should keep her with him, and show her a different life. Maybe she would realise that there were other lives possible than that which she'd been born into. Especially, he should allow her to watch as he cured the victims of curses. Bellamy thought the idea good. Najia was a sweet child, and it was not her fault that she thought selective breeding in humans normal, or knew a great deal of Dark Magic.

Sunday, Bellamy, Bryce, Dieter and the usual bodyguards were entertained as tourists by the American Ministry. It seemed that Vincent Reynolds had forgiven Bellamy for not killing Yiko Khatabi for them. They were accompanied by 'Kristy Bates,' who admitted to Bellamy that she was a witch. Najia was confident, walking openly into the arms of Bellamy when she approached. Dieter was confused. Bellamy said nothing, and only Bryce was tactless enough to ask questions. Bellamy was handling him better now when he chose, and only assumed an unusual aura of power, raised a blighting eyebrow, and Bryce was quiet.

Monday, Dieter agreed when Bellamy asked if Najia could watch for a while. Riza was keeping out of sight, and Bellamy, although he had an idea there was an older woman watching and waiting, never saw her.

Monday afternoon, Najia was very quiet and thoughtful. She knew her family punished people, and had always taken it for granted. But she'd never seen their victims, and now she saw twenty-two victims, a light day for Bellamy. He suspected that some spellbound people were choosing to remain cursed, rather than risking appearing in public.

She was with them again at dinner, joining them at table as if it was the most natural thing in the world. The conversation was general, though the work of the day was mentioned.

"Any more by the Khatabi Family, you reckon, Bellamy?" asked Bryce, who had no idea of discretion.

It suited the purposes of Bellamy, however, who felt it a good idea for Najia to know that her family's ideas were not normality. So he answered, "Only a couple, and they weren't too hard."

"I was thinking about that Cha Keeyo Curse," Bryce said. "That's unforgivable, doing that to a person."

"The Cha Keeyo Curse?" said Najia, innocently, "Keeatico Listeri Vego?"

Dieter stared, and then asked very quietly, "How do you know the incantation, Kristy?"

Kristy looked somewhat abashed at the accusing looks, but answered, "The tutor. He said it might come up in the exams." Bellamy was looking hard at Dieter, who felt his gaze, and asked no further questions of Najia.

But at the first opportunity, and before Bellamy took the girl to bed again, Dieter asked if he could speak privately to him. Bellamy nodded, only asking Najia if she was joining him later. Najia smiled very happily. "Oh, yes, Grandmother Riza says I should."

Dieter asked bluntly, as soon as they were alone, "Who is this girl, Bellamy?"

Bellamy gave him a shadowed look. "I don't want Johannson knowing. Nor McMillan. I don't trust them."

Dieter remembered his response to the request at the American Ministry. He'd thought it was something like that. He contemplated his loyalties, and discovered he had more confidence in the great wizard than he had in the new Chief Auror. His words were sincere. "I will tell no-one unless you say."

Bellamy nodded. Dieter could be trusted. "Her name is Najia Khatabi. I thought I might have a go at reforming her."

It was not unexpected. "Can she be trusted?" was the next question.

Bellamy answered, "At the moment, her instructions are only to go to bed with me. If she's told to attack, she's probably not to be trusted. But I don't think there's enough of the family left able to give that order. But she's not to be allowed to take her wand into my room."

"Your bodyguards wouldn't dream of it!" Dieter assured him.

Bellamy was looking uncomfortable, drumming his fingers on the side of the chair where he sat. He knew that Dieter wouldn't miss it, and he normally avoided mention of his more unusual abilities. But Dieter was his friend, and when Dieter asked what he meant when he said that there were not enough of the family left able to give an order to attack, he gave a full explanation - that he'd gone there, met several of them, all the active ones, he thought, and told them to behave, with the voice of hypnosis laced with magic.

Dieter shook his head. The man could still surprise him. And he'd shown his trust, too. He knew how secretive he was about his powers.

Bellamy added something. "They nearly beat me. Some of them have telepathy as well as magic, and two of them combined, and came close to beating me. They were very dangerous people."

"They came close to beating you?" Dieter said, shocked.

Bellamy smiled. "There's no reason why I should be unique, in spite of what Bryce says. They very nearly took me down." He remembered something. "At least one of them can work magic without a wand."

"Only when he's fighting, as you've always tried to pretend?"

Bellamy admitted, "He _was_ fighting, but I expect it doesn't really depend on that."

Dieter spoke quietly. "Why does Najia have orders to go to bed with you?"

Bellamy's face was coolly expressionless. "For hundreds of years, they've been using selective breeding techniques, just the same as a horse stud, or pedigree dogs and cats. They want Najia to get pregnant."

Dieter looked at the cool face of his friend, "But..."

Bellamy suddenly smiled. "Najia thinks I'm a wonderful lover, but she's as virginal as the day I met her."

Dieter laughed. But Bellamy was becoming fond of Najia, and he was using her, deceiving her, and he didn't know how to get rid of her, and how not to hurt her.

"I won't tell any of the aurors," said Dieter. "It's best if they continue thinking you're just doing what many of them would do, given half a chance."

Bellamy grinned wryly. "Jeremy thinks I'm a cad!"

Dieter said, "So did I, a bit."

Bellamy said in a low voice, "I am a cad, though. The poor kid is only doing what she's told, and I'm worried she'll be in a lot of trouble when they find out."

Dieter reassured. "We leave Wednesday, and you're not responsible for everything, and Najia knows she started it."

Bellamy was a little red, "You should have seen her dance! She called herself Salome, and she danced like Salome!"

"Yet you didn't touch her?" Bellamy shook his head, smiling slightly. "It was very difficult."

Dieter rose, and touched him on the shoulder. "You've saved lives. The child's hurt feelings are nothing beside that."

Bellamy nodded, and went on worrying.

That night, Bellamy went home again, and this time searched the store-room until he found what he wanted. There was a dainty gold necklace, but more importantly, there was a moneybelt. Bellamy renewed the enchantments, so that the moneybelt would not normally be noticed when others happened to see it on Najia. And then he put quite a lot of money in the magically capacious pockets. Najia should have the chance to break free if she chose. Pat was sound asleep, having readjusted to British time.

When he returned to his cold single bed in the New York hotel room, Bellamy consoled himself that it was only one more night. He looked for a moment at the sleeping face of the girl, but turned away again. It was only one more night. Najia dreamed the night away as Bellamy ensured she did every night, not wanting her to discover the trickery he'd been inflicting on her. There were some Khatabis left, after all. And Najia herself, he suspected, had considerable talent for magic, though he didn't think she was very bright.

An hour later, he woke suddenly. An idea had come to him. What he needed was a Nisco Monitor. He didn't give Bryce any hint of why he wanted a Nisco Monitor in the middle of the night, and Bryce's eyes were alive with curiosity. But Bellamy just thanked him, and told him to hush, people were trying to sleep. Then he went back to his room, and gently touched it to the back of the hand of the girl, already feeling guilty at the prying. But Najia was not like him. The LV was a high normal, on 104. Bellamy's LV measure was over 300.

Tuesday, Najia again watched as Bellamy cured witches and wizards of horrible spells, seeing their gratitude, and seeing their relief. There was the fear, too, shown as they hurried furtively across the square. Dieter took it upon himself to explain, that there was a powerful family of Dark Wizards in the area, and that people were afraid.

Najia's face was calm. Her insides were churning. Was her family responsible then, for so much misery and fear? Children accept what they grow up with, normally, and both Arab and Japanese families are taught to revere their elders. But Najia was at an age when a child starts questioning, and Najia was questioning.

Wednesday morning, Najia woke to find Bellamy still beside her in bed. He was caressing her face. Usually he was already up and dressed when she woke. She wondered why he didn't want to make love in the morning, as well as when they went to bed, but he explained that hardly any men could do it more than once in a day, and then not every day. She knew they'd had sex last night, she could remember it. He'd been wonderful as he always was. And it filled her with a feeling of gentle warmth. She thought sex was just as romantic as she'd always thought it would be.

She had expected, at first, that she would feel different afterwards, physically, but she hadn't. A penis was just a small, soft thing, of course, and it was just being intimate in a very special way. She'd put out of her mind that she was supposed to be getting pregnant, and now pretended that they were just a man and a woman, in love, and making love, as that was what people in love did.

Bellamy nearly made a big mistake then. He nearly called her Najia, but caught himself, and called her Darling Kristy, instead. Then he reached to the bedside table, and gave her the package with the necklace. "A goodbye present," he said. She'd been wonderful, he said, but today he'd be going home to his wife.

Najia had known it was the last day, and bit her lip, examining the generous gift instead, but scarcely seeing it. Suddenly, she launched herself on him, and cried.

Bellamy, holding an armful of naked girl, swore to himself, and quickly told her to dress now, there's a good girl, and afterward, he had something else for her. In the interests of pretence, he'd been as naked as she, and now he wrapped himself in a conjured dressing gown to hide the evidence of his acute excitement. Luckily, Najia hadn't noticed. Again he'd underestimated his own response to the girl. He wiped his brow, and refused when Najia suggested he shower with her. She was a little hurt, but only turned away and had her shower alone, followed by Bellamy, still having to keep his back to her. He cursed himself for a fool. It would have been better to be dressed when he allowed her to wake. Thank goodness it was nearly over.

He explained carefully about the moneybelt, for emergencies, or for when she wanted to become independent and leave her family.

"Leave?" she said, the idea new to her.

He told her that it would not be noticed, and she examined the pockets, small on the outside, big on the inside. There was even money.

Najia had almost never handled money, and she only thanked him, not knowing that there was a very large amount. She had a present for him too, a set of crystals made to swing and shine from a hanger on a sunny verandah. He kissed her. She was really a very sweet girl, but he cautiously passed a hand above the crystals before he touched them, feeling for any dark magic that could be dangerous to him. Never did he forget that she was from a very dangerous and powerful family.

And then it was over. The team checked out of the hotel, as they'd be leaving as soon as they finished work, and Riza told Najia that she was a very good girl, and took her shopping as a reward. In a few days, the sensor would confirm that she was pregnant. The spells were good, and Najia had assured her they'd had sex frequently. Riza wasn't worried. Of course the girl would be pregnant. It was a triumph.

Yiko Khatabi was no longer with the family, as he had business in Japan, and had flown out the previous day. Another was also gone. He had to see his niece who was in Morocco. She was only thirteen, but Riza had told him that he was to get her pregnant as soon as the girl was old enough. He decided thirteen was old enough. Two of the women were holidaying, separately. Others were talking about it. Oddly, the remaining men seemed to have forgotten their ambition to have Ministry officials cowering before them. Riza was pleased. They'd only been asking for trouble.

A few days later, Riza checked Najia, surprised that the sensor was not yet indicating her pregnancy. Maybe it was a little early. But the days went by, and no pregnancy was indicated. And then it was definite. Najia was not pregnant. Riza wondered what on earth had gone wrong. There was nothing to indicate that Najia was infertile, and the great wizard had sired many children. Seldom was there a need to delve deeply into what occurred between a man and a woman. And while sex education was given to the girls, it was scanty, enough to know what happened, a little, and firm instructions that when they were mated, they were just to do what they were told. Few of the women had enjoyed their first sexual encounters as much as Najia had enjoyed her imaginary adventures.

Riza embarrassed herself and Najia when she started questioning her very closely about exactly what had occurred, and how she'd felt afterward. Pain? Blood? Wetness?

Najia answered indignantly, "Of course not!" blushing furiously. "Henry wouldn't hurt me! It was wonderful."

There was no physical examination. Such an intrusion was all but unknown in wizardry. But Riza had a rarely used monitor, and when she found that Najia was still a virgin, she was so furious, that she slapped her hard across her face, first one cheek, then the other. Najia stared at her in utter confusion, tears in her eyes. What had she done wrong?

Annilie had some telepathic ability, and was still at the mansion, though Ishi , Sagirah, and Lileah, with their children, were off abroad. Riza went to Annilie. She needed to know whether there was magic on Najia, whether there had been memory modification. Annilie held the hand of Najia, and concentrated. It took her a while, as the magic was subtle. But she was able to confirm that Najia had been tricked. Her romance was a sham.

Najia was crushed. Humiliated. The look of utter contempt on the face of the matriarch hurt her. But it was only when Riza, in her anger, ordered her to be whipped, that she remembered her moneybelt. She hadn't told anyone about that. Bellamy had used a touch of magic when he'd told her to keep it very secret.

Unluckily for Najia, the one who was to do the whipping was not one whom Bellamy had spoken to. Najia suffered, as Bellamy had been afraid she would. Najia thought she hated him now, but she hated her family as much. As soon as her back healed sufficiently, she made her escape. Ahjmed caught her leaving, and called Adil, and yet neither of them laid hands on her.

Riza was furious when she was told that Najia was gone. She and Najia may have been tricked by the great wizard, but there were other matings in prospect, perhaps Adil. And why had Adil and Ahjmed just let her go? She called Annilie again, finding her studying a book about Mexico. Riza was the matriarch of the family, but she hardly ever bothered intervening in the affairs of the men. Children, she thought, most of them. Powerful wizards maybe, but with not enough brain. She'd have to start weeding out the dimmer ones. All breeders had their culls, especially if they used inbreeding to speed the process.

Only Adil and Ahjmed were left at the mansion, the other men dispersed. They were reluctant, but the ancestor of them all, demanded it. Annilie timidly held hands, which helped a little, and found the same sort of magic on them that Najia had had, though stronger. She couldn't break the memory modification, or detect the instructions left with them. But she knew that someone had meddled with both. Besides herself, only Riza was left of the women. Annilie didn't know that she herself, had been meddled with.

During the next weeks, Riza confirmed that others of the family had been subject to interference. One of the men, and two of the women couldn't even be found, and Riza had a suspicion that they were not planning to return. Her family had lost its teeth, and Riza was furious. It had to have been Henry Bellamy. Henry Bellamy must be found, and humiliated so thoroughly that he'd never raise his face again. A thought occurred to her. Those big bodyguards that protected him so well. They should watch. And he should be humiliated in all ways, not just with the spell that she'd already chosen. The bodyguards would watch, helpless.

Riza's ancient face creased into a smile. She'd build up her family again. There were still relatives in Morocco and in Japan. But Annilie had gone now, and Ahjmed, as well. She suspected Adil wouldn't be far behind. Yiko, she'd heard, had lost his power, and could barely open a door with his remaining magic.

Riza was small, with the olive complexion and big nose of the Arab side of the family. Her face was lined. She was a hundred and thirty-six years old, but she still had all the power she'd always had, and although she had no telepathy, she had more pure power than any other member of her family. And now she was bent on revenge.

***chapter end***


	7. Chapter 7

_Part 1/__Chapter 7: _

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling._

Bellamy was very relieved to return home. He didn't think he'd ever spent a more trying few days. But even before the week was over, there was contact from the Ministry. American patients, many of them. When could he come?

Bellamy agreed to do them, of course, but only a few at a time. Six a day, every day next week, though as many other normal patients as needed the service. And they should all be warned. It was possible that some might need to be postponed if too many were difficult. These were the ones, he was sure, who'd been too frightened to attend their appointments in New York.

By the following Friday, it seemed that he might have come to the end of the Khatabi victims, and he gave a sigh of relief. He checked telepathically on Najia, whom he found living in Italy. She was no longer a virgin, and now knew what Riza had been talking about when she referred to pain and blood and wetness. But there was little pain after the first time, and she also knew the wildness and earthy passion of sex. She thought back to her previous ideas of romance - she'd been so young then.

He checked briefly on other members of the family too, and knew that they were separated, as intended. The family was split, and those he'd met would find their magic becoming very ordinary, or even leaving them altogether as they lost confidence. He didn't check on Riza. He'd never met her.

Two weeks work, a week in Finland, and then Italy, the new Coordinator told him. Bellamy nodded. "I'll have three weeks off over Christmas, though, if you don't mind."

Jilla nodded. She was not long left school. She smiled at him. "Susan's a bit of a livewire, isn't she?"

Bellamy laughed. "She came very close to being suspended last week, but it was just a bit of harmless mischief. They should be more tolerant!"

"Pretty dangerous mischief," said Jilla, "I heard about it."

"I'm looking forward to the Christmas break. I like having the girls around me."

"Staying in England?"

"Somewhere warmer, I think," said Bellamy, "But Pat hasn't made up her mind yet."

Jilla smiled. The most powerful wizard in the world, and it was well known that it was his wife made all the decisions.

It was the first week of December. The team was in Italy, where there'd been a sudden rash of cursed people. But those cursed by Riza Khatabi had not yet been seen by Bellamy. They were mostly set for later in the week, and were just attacked for the purpose of making the demand for Bellamy sufficient that the Italian Ministry had requested an urgent visit. Riza had to do it herself, so that it would be a spell that an ordinary healer could not deal with. There were no other powerful Khatabis left active.

Dieter, Jeremy and Bryce. They never knew how it happened. It was daytime, Monday, and they found themselves regaining consciousness with a start. They were bound, tied to chairs, facing the centre of an unknown room. They were neither gagged nor blindfolded. Huddled on the floor in front of them, face down, was Bellamy, his cape trailing around him. One hand was doubled beneath him, one was down by his side, palm up, fingers slightly curled. Somehow it made him look utterly defenceless.

They didn't even notice the tiny, dark-faced woman at first. She sat in a chair that looked too large for her small frame. Jeremy had seen her before, walking with the New York girlfriend, Kristy Bates. She didn't look dangerous. There was no-one else in the room.

Riza waited. The aurors and the healer fought their bonds, trying to get free. They demanded explanations, made threats, called to Bellamy to wake up as he was in danger. Riza was silent, and waited.

It was only when they were quiet, panting with exertion, and with their helpless fury, that she spoke. "My name is Riza Khatabi. Henry Bellamy attacked my family. He will never attack anyone again." There must have been a signal, as Riza's wand was raised, and a wizard entered. Riza spoke to them again. "He is currently merely under a stun spell, though one a lot more powerful than normal. He is not yet damaged." She nodded at the wizard. His incantation was clearly uttered, but it was not one they recognised. It was in Arabic, Dieter thought. "Memory modification," Riza explained. "His memory is to be wiped clean."

Bryce started yelling his utter fury. It must have annoyed the witch, as she pointed her wand and suddenly his voice was gone. Dieter yelled suddenly, just as loudly as he could, and tried to make his mind send an urgent mental scream. Bellamy twitched, his fingers closing into a fist. Riza swiftly pointed her wand and uttered another incantation. Bellamy's body shuddered and he lay still. "Just another stun spell," Riza said, and she nodded.

The wizard did the memory modification again and again. A couple of times, Bellamy's body shuddered as he was hit. Bryce was sobbing, silent, agonised sobs. Riza watched him with satisfaction. She was pleased they'd taken the healer. The wizard paused and looked at her questioningly. "Yes, that will do," said Riza. She turned to the helpless spectators. "Have you heard of the Cha Keeyo Curse?"

"_No!" _cried Dieter. Bellamy would still be himself with his memory gone, but now the witch was going to destroy his mind altogether.

"The Cha Keeyo Curse," lectured Riza. "A person who has been subject to the Cha Keeyo Curse is a vegetable." She looked at the man on the floor. He was unconscious, but started trembling, quivering, it seemed, in fear.

Dieter screamed at him again, to wake up, to defend himself, but Bellamy lay on the floor, helpless, deeply unconscious, but trembling. "It is not just a stun spell," Riza explained. "It is the Bajet Stun Curse. No-one can pull himself out of that, no matter how you yell," she said, looking at Dieter. Oddly, the ancient face wore almost a kindly expression.

But Dieter tried again, joined by Jeremy. Bryce, still without his voice, was silently shrieking to his friend, in an agony of pain. Riza looked at him, raised her wand, and suddenly his voice had sound again.

"The Cha Keeyo Curse," Riza started again, ignoring the shouting, but they heard the quiet, precise, accented voice. "He will be unable to walk or talk, incontinent, of course, and unable to feed himself. He will have to be fed, cleaned up when he messes himself, totally helpless, a drooling, helpless idiot."

She nodded at the wizard, who chanted, loudly and clearly, _"Keeatico Listeri Vego,"_ and a dark light briefly shot from the end of his wand and hit the wizard on the floor. His body gave a deep shudder, and the man groaned. Riza was surprised.

"It hasn't worked," shrieked Bryce. "He still knows what's happening. He'll wake up and he'll kill you!"

Riza looked at him thoughtfully, and at the man on the floor. He'd stopped shaking, and now lay inert. Riza repeated again the words of the Bajet Stun Curse. There was no reaction. She turned to the wizard, "Again."

He looked surprised, "What?"

"Repeat the Cha Keeyo Curse. I want it done three times."

The wizard nodded his assent, though puzzled. Once was enough, the mind was already destroyed, irreparably. _"Keeatico Listeri Vego."_ Bellamy screamed aloud, writhed on the floor as if in agony, and then started fitting.

Dieter and Jeremy had seen horrors in their jobs as aurors, but they'd never watched a friend slowly destroyed.

Patiently, Riza waited until the spasms ceased. She nodded to the wizard.

"_Keeatico Listeri Vego."_ This time there was only a deep shudder. There was no sound.

Dieter's face was a mask, but his fists were clenched so tight, there was blood where his fingernails dug in. Bryce was sobbing again, loudly, unashamed. Jeremy tried to imitate Dieter's impassive face, but was finding it impossible.

Riza nodded. "Very well, it's done." She looked at those who had been his friends. "He's gone now, although his body lives. It is time for his body to be humiliated also."

They didn't know what she meant. What more could she do to him?

"Turn him over," she said to the wizard. The wizard pulled Bellamy over onto his back. His head lolled to the side, and there was blood and spittle on his face. The front of his trousers was wet with urine - he'd wet himself when he fitted. Riza looked at him with apparent sadness. "A drooling, helpless idiot. But it's justice. He must have taken less than an hour, if it was done when I think it was, but he destroyed my family by interfering with their minds to the extent that several hundreds of years of careful, selective breeding has been wasted."

Only Dieter knew what she was talking about. Jeremy demanded further explanations, but was ignored. Still looking regretful, she regarded her victim. Pointing her wand, his clothes vanished, and he was cleaned. She looked back at Dieter, Jeremy and Bryce. She waved her wand, Bryce's sobs became soundless, and when Jeremy tried to speak again, he found his voice gone. She smiled sadly. "Twelve men will do the next job for me. They are Medj, and they know that the men tied are not to be touched. You will watch, but you cannot make a sound. I don't want the men distracted."

She took her seat in the chair, almost seeming to become invisible in its depths. Dieter wondered if she was using Cloaking Magic.

Within five minutes, Dieter, Jeremy and Bryce knew exactly what Riza had meant when she said that his body would be humiliated. Twelve men, and some had a second go. He was not hit, or kicked, or molested in any other way, just raped, brutally and repeatedly. One of the men wandered over to Bryce, whose eyes still streamed tears. He caressed the cheek, but a cold voice from the chair said, "No," and he pulled back his hand as if he'd been burned.

Afterwards, there was quite a lot of blood. The men were dismissed. "The man outside will pay you." Riza stood, and looked down at the bloodied body of the vegetable who'd once been the great wizard. She turned to the spectators.

They woke again, in a dark corner, close to the hotel where they'd been staying. There was no point in staying any longer. Without Bellamy's abilities, the patients that waited would not be cured.

_End of Part 1_.


	8. Chapter 8

Part 2.

_Part 2, Chapter 1_

The John Doe was found in a gutter. He was naked and very cold, but his only injury seemed to be some very severe anal tearing. There was a lot of dried blood. He wore no jewellery, not even a watch. Dental records were irrelevant, as it appeared as if he'd never had a filling in his life. There were no tattoos or piercings, and no sign of drug use. He had long hair, which was one handy descriptor, and he had scars, including distinctive white bracelets around both wrists.

A detailed description was sent to the New York police to see if they could match him to a missing person. There was no sign of physical trauma to the head, but the brain scan was distinctly abnormal. He remained deeply comatose.

He was a charity patient, and the surgeon was not in a hurry to perform the reconstructive surgery required. And when he checked him finally, three days after he came in, he told the resident doctor that surgery was not needed. The resident had a close look, and compared what he saw with his notes. The man had healed amazingly well. He could have sworn surgery was needed. But he was a busy man and soon forgot the oddity.

It was nearly Christmas. Another brain scan was performed, with no change observable. There was brain activity, according to the EEG results, though that was atypical, too. But the bed was needed, and the John Doe was transferred to Ward 14, the ward that housed over two dozen other comatose male patients, none of them expected to regain consciousness. Tubes kept them alive. Most had a nasogastric tube, through which they were fed. Some had intravenous drips as well, often those with muscle spasms, that sometimes had them screaming in pain, though supposedly not knowing anything or feeling anything. All of them had the indignity of a urine bag hanging beside their bed. A few were on breathing machines, but if a person needed help to breathe, doctors at this hospital seldom encouraged relatives to keep them alive. The John Doe, of course, had no known relatives.

They left his hair long. Somehow it seemed to give him a touch more dignity in his helplessness, though it was more trouble than the very short haircut most of the long term patients had.

The weeks passed. On the first of March. Rebecca, the nurse, smiled. She thought that one of the other nurses must have a fondness for the John Doe, maybe Josie who was notoriously soft-hearted. Most of the patients were shaved every second day, but John was often left for three or even four days, as he had less beard growth than most. It was Rebecca's shift that was responsible for shaving the patients, but now, Rebecca touched the smooth cheek, and thought that someone had obviously shaved him recently.

Several days later, Josie laughed to Taylor that Rebecca must be sweet on John, as he was being shaved every day now. She reached over and smoothed down the tape on his cheek that held the nasogastric tube, and kept it from being put under strain. It was coming up at the corner again.

The vague shapes surrounded him. There was an irritation in his nose. His feeble hand tried to remove the tube, plucking at the tape. But consciousness faded, and blackness returned.

It was not until the third week of March that Rebecca told the doctor that John might be coming out of it, that she'd noticed movement, that he'd been trying to remove the nasogastric tube. The doctor peered at him. The patient was young, of course, and sometimes the young ones did show improvement. And there had never been any obvious reason for the coma, in spite of the puzzling brain scans. There was more brain activity shown when they did another EEG. Maybe he was coming out of it.

The next day, Josie found the nasogastric tube lying on the floor, and the urine bag was leaking where John had presumably interfered with it. At least, the bed was dry. It was getting to be a nuisance, and although Josie spoke loudly to him, there was no response, not even when she tried painful stimuli. She adjusted restraints around his wrists instead. He could hurt himself pulling out the tube when he didn't know what he was doing.

Two hours later, he screamed, twisting and struggling frantically against the restraints. Josie pulled them off, and he gradually calmed, staring at her, before trying again to pluck at the tape that held the nasogastric tube. She pulled away his hands, trying to tell him that it was all right, that he had to leave the tube alone. But his eyes were closing, and she readjusted the restraints.

It wasn't until the next shift that he started to wake again, and tried to raise his hands. Finding himself restrained, he panicked again, screaming and struggling, throwing himself as hard as he could away from those ties that bound him. Rebecca ran to him, holding his arms, speaking loudly, trying to penetrate his fear.

Her partner said, "Take them off?"

Rebecca nodded, and the restraints were removed, although with some difficulty as he kept jerking against them. Only when he could move his hands as he wanted, did he stop struggling and lie still. His eyes were open, and Rebecca took the opportunity. "What's your name?"

The blurred figure was known to the patient, who could feel her as an individual, even as his eyes saw only a vague shape. "You must not tie me up!" he said to her urgently. "Please, don't tie me up."

Rebecca explained to him soothingly that they were only restraints so that he wouldn't pull out the tube in his nose. But as she explained that he had to have the tube, even if he didn't like it, that he'd starve without it, darkness was swamping him again. But they moved him close to the nurses' station where he'd be easier watched, and they left off the restraints.

The next time he woke, Rebecca saw his beginning movement, a sudden frantic jerk of his arms. Finding them free, he sighed and relaxed, and stared at the ceiling before turning his head, trying to take in his surroundings. Rebecca jumped to attention as his hands rose to his face, but he only passed his hands once over his cheeks, and then put them down again, feeling, instead, the sides of his bed.

She went to him, saying a gentle hello. He looked in her direction, her shape interrupting the light from a window. The shape seemed to be shifting, and blending into the background, and he squinted, trying to see more clearly.

Rebecca took his hand. They so rarely saw a patient recover in this ward, and the nurses had objected strenuously when it was suggested he should be moved, even though a waking patient could be a lot more work than a comatose one. Gently, she was telling him where he was, in hospital, and she said her name was Rebecca, and she introduced Simon, her partner. The nurses usually worked in pairs, as it was easier when there so much lifting involved.

Simon asked this time, "What's your name?"

John took no notice. But when Rebecca asked his name, he answered, "John." They'd been calling him John, or 'the John Doe,' but John was a common name, and his name, quite easily, could really be John.

"Tell me your full name, John," said Rebecca. "What's your full name?"

John put a hand to his aching head, but he answered Rebecca, who'd been around all his life. "My name's John Doe."

Rebecca and Simon looked at each other, but didn't press further.

His hand went to his face, plucking at the tape again, and he complained, "I don't like it!"

Simon pulled his hand away, and he resisted a moment, before sighing and closing his eyes. It had been barely five minutes, but the nurses were gleeful. John was getting better. Rebecca touched his smooth cheek. "I wonder who's been shaving him. It's not in the notes."

If there were indications of waking from him during the next two shifts, it passed unnoticed, though there was another brain scan, that showed no change, and an EEG that showed little change, either. The wave pattern still indicated a comatose state. The resident doctor had a good look at him, and requested a senior doctor have a look. "When I'm not so busy," said the expert, looking at the notes of an acute care patient.

Morning shift again, Rebecca and Simon, Barbara Ritchie in overall charge of this ward, and the adjacent one, that held eighteen female comatose patients. It was the biggest hospital in New York, and accepted the largest number of charity patients. Rebecca and Simon were working at the other end of the ward, washing the men, one by one, shaving most, changing urine bags, the usual routine. It was a large workload, but it was all the staff they had.

They looked up at a crash and a perfectly normal sounding, _"Bugger!"_ John was getting up from the floor, clinging to the railings of his bed, which he'd apparently climbed over. They abandoned the swarthy man they'd been tending, and hurried to him. The tube was on the floor again, and the urine bag was leaking all over the floor as well.

John was looking around, peering blindly. He smiled at Rebecca and Simon as they approached, and asked, "Can I have a shower now?" Simon grabbed a chair from the next door patient, whose wife occasionally visited. John was pressed into a chair, but looked at Rebecca, and repeated, "Please Rebecca, I need a shower."

Rebecca looked at Simon, who shrugged. "Stay here, I'll get it ready."

Rebecca asked John his name and address while he waited, and looked about. His eyes fell on the next door bed, and he said sadly, "His bottom hurts. You should turn him on his side more."

Rebecca repeated her question, and he replied, puzzled. "You know my name. I'm John."

"John Doe?" Rebecca asked, and John nodded.

They put him in a wheelchair, to take him to the bathroom, where he vanished into the toilet, closing the door. They waited, hoping he wouldn't fall. But they already knew that things were easier if they didn't try and restrain him. His shower was skimpy, and he was staggering when he emerged. Speedily, they took him back to bed, and he managed to climb in before closing his eyes, looking a lot more contented.

Simon touched his face. "He needs a shave," he commented. John passed two hands over his cheeks, and his face was smooth. His nurses stared at each other, mouths agape. How had he done that? It was definite, and they told each other again and again. Yes, he'd definitely needed a shave. Yes, he put his hands to his cheeks, and he no longer needed a shave.

Senior Nurse Ritchie laughed at them when they told her. But they insisted, and she came and touched his cheek. Maybe John didn't like her, because he muttered something and turned his head away. "Prove it then!" she finally told them. "Restrain him for a few days, so his beard grows a bit more, then we'll take the restraints off and we'll see what happens." They tried to explain that John panicked when restrained, but Barbara Ritchie was one of those supervisors who saw any hint of an opposing opinion as a threat, and she instantly made it an order instead of a request.

Rebecca and Simon had no choice, though Rebecca hated herself when next her patient woke and thrashed around in the bed, trying desperately to escape.

There was a very bad couple of days for John then. He struggled and fought, and when his strength ran out, he begged piteously for release, addressing his nurses by name. And when he was refused, no matter what reassurances they tried to offer, he sobbed in despair. But even so, his intervals of consciousness were only about ten minutes at a time, a few times a day.

Barbara Ritchie relented after two days, and, although the beard growth was not a great deal, it was still discernible, and was obvious to the touch. There was an audience. The CEO of the hospital was curious when Barbara mentioned the odd phenomenon that two of her nurses claimed to have seen. The resident doctor wanted to watch as well, but an emergency arose in another ward, and he couldn't be there.

Simon removed the restraints, and Rebecca told her sleeping patient that he was not tied up any more, and he needed a shave. He made no move. Rebecca picked up his hand, and touched it to his cheek. He frowned, and both hands came up, and the cheeks were smooth.

This time, there were four witnesses who felt his cheeks to confirm, but his eyes were open now, and he was looking around anxiously, repeatedly raising his hands to make sure that they really were free.

"Rebecca?" he queried, knowing which of the shapes she was.

She was reassuring. He wasn't panicking, as he wasn't tied, but he was acutely unhappy. He didn't know what was wrong, but there were too many people, and they were all looking at him. He turned his head away and closed his eyes, as if to hide. They knew he wasn't sleeping, as there was an anxious frown on his face. Simon held a hand and tried to reassure, but he never took as much notice of the man as he did the woman, and he only opened his eyes when Rebecca touched him on the shoulder, and told him to stop worrying. Everything was all right.

He stayed awake longer that time, but he only relaxed when he was left alone. And then he was again plucking at the tape that held the nasogastric tube. Simon took a few quick strides to his side, and explained again that the tube was to feed him. John looked for Rebecca, but Rebecca was busy elsewhere, and he looked back at Simon. "I'd like a feed," he said. "I'd like ice-cream please."

Simon laughed, and called to Rebecca. "He wants ice-cream."

Rebecca looked up from her unpleasant job, and said, "Well, why don't we take out the tube and give him some ice-cream, then?"

They took out the tube, and they gave him some ice-cream, and he thanked them politely before closing his eyes. He opened them again suddenly, though, and his voice was rather high pitched, frightened, as he said, "Are you going to tie me up again?"

Simon touched him gently on the shoulder. "I doubt we'll need to do that ever again."

John Doe was getting better. John Doe was a mystery, and no-one understood how he could shave merely by touching his hands to his cheeks. His carers were bitterly disappointed when he was efficiently whisked away in the middle of the night, and they were not even told where he'd been taken.

***chapter end***


	9. Chapter 9

_Part 2, __Chapter 2:_

He was tied up again, and again John fought desperately against the restraints and begged for release. But Rebecca wasn't there and nor were any of the other nurses he knew. None of them were even female. The hated tube was back in place. Cameras were pointed at him, fixed only a couple of feet above his face, and working continuously, but his sight was poor and they were only vague shapes to him. Other cameras kept the whole of the room under a constant surveillance. John Doe was very closely watched.

Enquiries were made trying to ascertain his identity, but they were made as discreetly as possible, and when there was a sniff of interest from a Swedish politician, he was unable to get any information, and gave none.

Colonel Mark Bedville was put in charge of Facility 19, where John Doe now lay. There were no other beds, no other patients. One of the walls was of a clear pale shade. It was kept free of furnishings. Behind the wall, there was a room where observers could watch every move the subject made. There were two male nurses on duty at all times. They were army nurses.

Isaac Berg was an army doctor, a man of about thirty, who looked solid, reliable, kindly. But he had an intense curiosity, and had been transferred to this duty from a hospital where research was being undertaken into the treatment of mental diseases. Neither Isaac nor the nurses were dressed in army uniform, Isaac in civilian clothing, the male nurses with white tunic tops over grey trousers. Two armed soldiers guarded the room, but outside the door, out of sight of the subject.

Outside, repairs were being made to the high fence, and the barbed wire that had been long removed, was replaced. The soldiers who guarded Facility 19 were armed with rifles, with batons and with stun guns. The border patrol had attack dogs. The soldiers were subject to the Official Secrets Act, though hardly any of them knew why they were there. The Facility had been originally designed for bacteriological warfare research, though it had never been used for that purpose, and was more recently used to train commandos to take control of a building filled with 'hostiles.' There was a lot of repair work and modification going on, cameras were rigged in many areas, and those on the gates were briefed on the need for utmost security.

Again, there was an audience when one of the nurses removed the restraints. Joe Price called the attention of Colonel Bedville and the doctor to the scars that encircled the wrists of their patient.

"Probably why he fights against being restrained so much," commented Isaac. "He's been traumatised at some stage."

"It can't have been from the rape," said the Colonel. "Those scars have to be more than a few months old."

Isaac agreed.

"White in his hair, too," said the Colonel. "How old do you think he might be?"

"About twenty-four, twenty-five, not much older," said the doctor. "Take out the Nasogastric tube as well, Joe," he instructed. "We'll try feeding him normally. It seems they managed it the day before he was brought here."

He added to the Colonel, "He might do a lot better now he's not restrained, especially if we can feed him by mouth. He urgently needs to put a bit of weight on." They had full notes, the originals from the hospital. The amended notes left with the hospital records no longer mentioned anything unusual.

Price told John that he needed a shave. He repeated it, speaking in a firm tone. The Colonel took over. "John, it's time to shave. Shave yourself."

The patient turned his head away. There was a continuous EEG reading now, the electrodes attached here and there on their patient's head. Isaac watched the readings attentively. Usually, they still mostly showed the characteristic coma pattern, but at the moment, it showed merely a sleeping pattern. He thought that John could wake up now, if he chose. But maybe it would be better if they just waited.

Even the Colonel hadn't lost the soldier's ability to be patient when required, and now they stepped back from the bed, and waited. Two on one side, two on the other, none of them in front of the observers in the next room, and none of them obscuring the path of the several cameras in the room.

A half hour of silence passed. They waited. The movement from the man in the bed was convulsive as he wrenched himself over, pulling his arms up in a violent movement. But he was free, and he stopped moving almost straight away, only looking around quietly. His hand went to his cheek, but he was only touching, feeling for the presence of the hated tube. It wasn't there. He didn't like these men who surrounded him. He wanted Rebecca, and he said her name, questioningly, "Rebecca?"

They stayed silent. They had a suspicion he didn't see very well, and still hoped he might perform that behaviour that was so incredible. There had been four witnesses, but they wanted to see it themselves, and they very much wanted it on film. Film was firm evidence. As intended, the beard growth was obvious now. They'd left him restrained for four days, making sure that the film would clearly show the phenomenon.

John stared at the ceiling and spoke in a low voice, but quite clearly. "I don't like to be watched."

Isaac shrugged and went to him, saying who he was, and saying who his nurses were. John looked fully at him, and then away. "Why did you tie me up?"

Isaac adopted an even more soothing tone. He said that he'd had to be restrained, because he was not being sensible. They were only able to take off the restraints when he'd calmed down.

John looked at him and said nothing. He was quite unable to be sensible when tied up, and the doctor was lying. He could feel it.

Isaac was looking at him with an understanding half smile. It seemed his patient bore a grudge. "Would you like something to eat?"

The grudge was forgotten as John turned a delighted smile to him. He definitely wanted something to eat. He was very hungry.

Afterward, they helped him to the bathroom, and he showered. He felt so much better. He slept again when he returned to bed, and they readjusted the electrodes for continuous EEG monitoring. He'd been awake forty minutes, far longer than on any previous occasion.

Only his nurses were in the room next time he woke, and Price nudged Rockdale and pointed. Still with eyes shut, John passed both hands over his cheeks and the dark growth was gone. He was as smooth cheeked as a child. But their silent jubilation apparently penetrated the sleep of John, who turned his head toward them, and spoke in an irritable tone, "What?"

They didn't answer, but his eyes were open, looking at the ceiling. A knowledge seeped into him. He was not supposed to shave like that. When people watched, he had to always use a razor. It was the first of April.

The watchers were disappointed that they didn't see the weird phenomenon again. But they had it on film, and the film was watched again and again. They didn't know what they had, but they knew it was not a normal human.

John was doing well, awake longer each day, eating well, and beginning to put on weight. But when he asked for a razor so he could shave, they denied him. He stared at them in puzzlement. He had to be able to shave, he hated himself unshaven, and somehow the knowledge that he had a different way of shaving was lost.

On the fifth day he peered at the dark beard growth in the bathroom mirror. The see-through wall was right beside him, and a man watched from just behind. Slowly, John turned toward the man, and abruptly slammed his fist against the wall. The man behind the wall flinched and retreated.

John was looking black, peering at the wall, totally opaque from his side, and then returning to the bedroom area and striding up and down next to the wall, his head turned to it, appearing to be looking straight through.

Price and Rockdale pressed a button, otherwise just watching. Price finally asked, "What's the matter, John?"

John spared him a bare glance. He didn't like his nurses, any of them. He preferred Rebecca and Josie and Taylor.

Abruptly, he strode toward the door, trying it and finding it locked. He turned, leaning back to the wall and started to tremble. He was staring at his nurses. He still had little strength, and they were the ones who helped him shower, helped him dress, kept his room clean and tidy and brought him meals. They'd not been cruel or bossy, but they were not female, and John would always prefer females to look after him.

Isaac was in the observation room now, watching.

John said, "I want to go out."

Rockdale said, perfectly calmly, "You can't go out, you're not well enough."

John was already feeling the crippling weakness flooding his body. He turned to the door again, wrenching at the doorknob. It was opened. He tried to brush past Isaac, but Isaac put out a hand, and caught his arm. "You're being silly, John. If you want to go out, we'll organise a wheelchair, and your nurses will take you out."

John stood still, trembling. He was beginning to think he was a prisoner, and was feeling the same fear as when he was tied.

He gave a deep sigh of relief when he was taken into the open. He felt with his senses, and pointed where he wanted to go. Isaac nodded at Rocky. The area of grass felt good to him. Shakily, he stood out of the wheelchair, Isaac helped support him. "I want to sit on the grass for a little while," he explained. And when they helped him down, he lay on his back, put out a hand and touched the living grass. He closed his eyes. The sunshine warmed him. It was a good feeling.

Isaac sat on the grass next to him. John still had his eyes closed. "What sort of a hospital is this?" he asked. "Where are the other patients."

Isaac said calmly, patiently, "It's a research hospital. The other patients are in other wards, but there are not many, as we only take those who are interesting cases."

John frowned. "Am I an interesting case?"

Isaac said, still in that calming voice, "Total amnesia is very rare."

John still frowned. "Have I got amnesia?"

"Do you remember who you are, where you came from?"

John thought. "I haven't lived very long," he concluded. "There's nothing to remember."

Isaac nodded. Total amnesia was very rare, but it wasn't why John was carefully guarded, in a large, secure facility, with no other patients. But it was obvious that he was worried about being a prisoner, and the illusion would be maintained as long as possible, that it was just a hospital.

On re-entering 'Ward 3,' as they described it, John frowned again at the bare wall. "Why am I watched all the time? I don't like being watched all the time."

Isaac was still with him. "We're looking after you. You would never have had such careful treatment in the public hospital."

But John declared, "I prefer the other hospital. I'd like to go back, please."

Isaac gave him a lengthy and entirely fictitious explanation of why a patient could not be in a public hospital when there was a private hospital willing to take him. He finished, "Do you understand?"

John said no, but there was a lot he didn't understand, and he only looked to the table where a meal waited.

He'd been awake nearly three hours. It was a rapid and consistent improvement, although there was a strong tendency to stagger to the left whenever he was on his feet. But now, when he rose to his feet, he stopped, looking uncertain and a little frightened. For a moment, he just stood, swaying, then he clapped his hands to his head and gave a strangled cry of pain, falling to the floor, writhing in agony.

He quietened after a few minutes, staying very still, but with his body tense, and when Isaac felt his pulse, it was racing. He was in a very great deal of distress. They put him in bed, though he resisted slightly when they first touched him and muttered that they should leave him alone. But it seemed that even those words cost him too much, and Isaac felt his body become more limp, as he lost consciousness.

It was only for a few minutes, as it seemed the pain was too great for such an easy release. The painkiller administered didn't make any difference, and when they started to fix the electrodes for continuous EEG monitoring, he started fitting. The first seizure went for a long time.

There were more in the next hours and days, periods of head pain, then seizures, followed by hours of unconsciousness.

He was sensible for brief intervals, though it seemed he was never sensible enough to leave the feeding tube in place. The third time he pulled it out, roughly, hurting himself, they decided to leave it out. Feeding him that way didn't seem to do him much good in any case. He wouldn't tolerate an Intravenous Drip at all, and if they tried to make him leave it in, he only panicked in the same way he panicked if he found himself restrained.

They handled him with tact and efficiency. He began to have more trust in Isaac, and in his nurses, the four regular ones, and the ones who came to relieve when they went off for meal breaks.

As soon as he seemed to be over the episode of head pains and fitting, they started taking him outside every day. On several occasions, he saw men and women in dressing gowns, escorted by nurses. They were beginning to find him more cheerful, and he seemed to be ignoring the wall that hid the watchers. But the watchers were no longer continually observing, spending most of their time editing film that was taken. All the cameras were in continuous operation, and there were cameras everywhere. All film that showed the subject was retained, parts copied and edited as a separate record of different behaviours. Film where he was just sleeping or eating or showering was not very useful, but collections of instances where he appeared to show some sort of unusual ability, such as looking through the opaque wall, were collated and studied.

He still needed building up, and as he still spent large parts of each day sleeping, there was no attempt for the time being to give him meals at regular times. He was eternally hungry, it seemed, and never declined a meal.

He asked to see a book that Price was reading one day, but only gave it back. "I can't read," he said. After that, Isaac put him through a series of eyesight tests, which served to confuse the doctor greatly. Sometimes, it seemed that John could barely see, falling over a chair if it was moved, for instance, and yet he always knew who was around him, and sometimes he could apparently see perfectly well. He ran through the eyesight chart perfectly, for instance, then misjudged the doorway as he started to leave the room, bruising his side.

A few days later, Isaac had an array of pairs of glasses for John to try, handing him the pair he thought most likely to be effective. If it seemed to help, he could organise a professional optometrist. But John tried the pair of glasses, gave a yelp of pain and clutched his head as the glasses fell to the floor. He tried again with a different pair, but the stab of pain was fierce enough to bring tears to his eyes.

Isaac quietly packed them away. John looked at them sadly. It would have been nice to have been able to read, or even just to see the films they put on for him sometimes. For some reason, he could always see them better if someone watched with him.

As the days and weeks passed, he was able to walk easier and further, though still relying on a cane to stop him staggering, always to the left. He was beginning to know his surroundings, though he was never left alone, always with two male nurses close. Once he no longer spent hours sleeping every day, his meals were regularised, and his days settled into more of a routine. John thought he was a patient, although he didn't understand why he should be getting so much attention. He didn't like it very much, but knew no other life. He could barely remember the other hospital any more. It seemed lost in those days where blackness ruled, those days when he'd been born, it seemed to him, though he knew that he was around twenty-four. Isaac said so.

He'd been at the facility two months, and it was the end of May. Isaac said he was to have a brain scan. John was cooperative, until he saw that he was supposed to allow himself to be put deep into a place that pressed around him. With panic in his voice, he refused to do it, only turning around and trying to leave, as Isaac explained that he would not be hurt, that it was just an examination. It was harmless, he could shut his eyes if he wanted. It would only take about ten minutes, and would give his doctor valuable information.

John took a grip on himself. But he could not go into that machine. In a shaking voice, instead, he explained to Isaac that he was a damaged man, that he could not be put into that confined space, that he would not be _able _to be still.

Isaac looked at him for long moments, and then nodded. "All right, we won't do it."

John sighed with relief, and didn't know that Isaac had decided that they'd just have to drug him.

Lunchtime, he took a mouthful of his meal, and put down his fork. He was hungry, as he always was, still very thin, still needing more weight on. He tried again, carefully, tasting. He put down his fork and pushed away the plate. They suspected he had some telepathic ability by now, and his nurses had not been told that his meal was to be drugged in case they gave some indication that something was unusual. Rockdale asked if there was something wrong. John said that he wasn't hungry, and asked if he could go out instead. Rockdale shrugged, put down his paper, and he and Price escorted John outside. He could walk longer distances now, and headed toward the area of tall trees that started not far from the buildings.

Isaac came to find him, having been quickly advised that the drugged meal was a failure. Rockdale and Price were not close, just keeping an eye on him as he walked. There were guards about also, in camouflage uniforms, but they'd been told not to come close, and John had never asked about them. The clothing he wore had been chosen by himself, from those he was offered. He wore jeans, and a bright red shirt, that pleased him. The colour pleased his guards too, as he was so conspicuous. All of the shirts he wore were bright, mostly red, sometimes a vivid yellow, and one a brilliant blue.

Isaac came up with him as he leaned against a tall tree, looking up into the branches, not yet in full leaf. He greeted his doctor, unsuspicious. Isaac asked why he didn't eat his lunch. John still touched the tree. It was so solid, alive, different from the feel of humans. It was friendly and he wanted to climb it, but he knew he didn't yet have the strength. But he kept his hand on the trunk.

Isaac repeated his question. John finally answered that he didn't like his meal. Isaac was looking at him assessingly. He'd made a lot of progress in the last month, and he wanted to see if there was any change in the brain scan. John always spent hours outside, whenever his nurses would allow. He had not, so far, openly revolted against the decrees of his nurses, though they were careful not to oppose him when he was determined. He just might have unusual abilities, though magical shaving seemed harmless enough.

It was better if he continued to trust his regular nurses, so when he was lured back into the room with a promise of a replacement meal, it was a relief nurse, Will, that suddenly pressed in the syringe. John gave a roar of fury, swung around, and, neatly and fiercely, knocked him out. Again, he'd surprised them.

John stared at the fallen man, and then, suspiciously, at Price and Rockdale. He gently rubbed his arm, beginning to feel a treacherous sleepiness. Urgently, he went to the door as he had to go out and hide. They were going to do something to him. Rockdale tried to detain him, grabbing an arm, but John wheeled on him, fists balled.

Instead of direct confrontation, they only followed him at a distance as he walked as fast as he could, straight across the parkland, further than he'd been before. It seemed he didn't see the fence, walking straight into it and staggering back. He put out a hand, feeling the wire, and raising his head. It was almost invisible to him. Blackness was closing in on him, and he went down quite quickly once he discovered he couldn't easily escape.

Colonel Bedville was already watching film of the half-blind, sick man, as he displayed a lightning speed and ferocity in response to the shock of an injection. There would soon be more for him to think about. John revived halfway through the brain scan, panicked at finding himself in the enclosed space, and became uncontrollable. They fought him to a halt, but the scanner would cost tens of thousands of dollars to repair, and two guards and a visiting radiographer were out of action for a few days.

John was collapsed in exhaustion. Worse, he no longer had any trust in his nurses or in his doctor. He seldom spoke, and he refused even to step on the scales for Isaac when he wanted to weigh him. About the only thing he would say was that he was better now, and wanted to leave. They told him he was still too sick, and when he accused them of keeping him a prisoner, said again that it was just a research hospital. That he was just a patient. John behaved himself for a few days, eating all he was given, and walking as best he could when they took him outside.

It didn't take him long to get back to his previous level of fitness, and then to improve a bit more. A week after the brain scan incident, he started walking around the perimeter fence. It was a tall fence, and suddenly the image was clear in his head - about twelve feet high, and with barbed wire shiny, all along the top. A research hospital? There was a cleared area which extended inwards for about twenty feet, outwards for a lot further. No trees, grass mown. There were people watching. He peered, squinting, unable to see the soldiers. Then he started walking again.

The Colonel had been alerted, and was watching the images from the cameras. There was no part of the fence not being filmed. John touched the fence now and again as he walked. He was beginning to tire, but he didn't stop until he came across the gate, and watched as a car approached, a guard checked identification, and the tall and solid gate was opened for it. The image abruptly blurred. It had been quite clear for a moment.

The guards were much closer than usual, and were alternately watching John and watching the gate, ready to act if needed. They knew the subject could not be allowed to leave, although they didn't know why. They knew their duty, however, and would follow orders. But John only crossed the road and continued following the fence. He was staggering now, and some felt a sneaking admiration for his determination. He was still very thin, and he depended on his cane to keep his balance.

He stopped when he reached the place where he'd started. There had been just the one gate. He felt the wire again. He thought he could climb it, but only if he was barefoot. But not today. Today, he stumbled tiredly to the foot of his favourite tree, curled up, and slept. Three guards were not far away, and his nurses were close. But Isaac said just to leave him.

Two hours later, he woke and sat up. And when he was pointed to a path off to the side, where a wheelchair waited, he didn't argue, but went where they pointed. They wheeled him back. He wondered when he'd be strong. Or would he be strong? He couldn't remember ever being strong. He wouldn't ask Isaac. Isaac couldn't be trusted.

Three days later, he made the test. He needed to know if he was really a prisoner, so he ignored the shouts, knocked down the soldier who grabbed at him, and continued out the gate which had just been opened for a car, striding fast, although still holding his cane. He was actually out the gate when the stun gun was held to his ribs, and the trigger pulled very briefly. It should have immobilised him only momentarily, enough for him to be overpowered. Instead, he fell instantly into a violent fit.

He was sick then for three weeks, fitting repeatedly to begin with, but then that terrible head pain came back. After the first few times, Isaac gave orders that when he went down to the pain, he was just to be left to lie. When he was interfered with, no matter how benign the intention, he was apt to start fitting again, and fits can do damage. John Doe was already very badly damaged.

The last week, he was back in a coma. Isaac finally got his brain scan. This time, John was under full anaesthesia in spite of his apparently comatose state. It turned out to be a pointless test, no change from the very first time it was done when he was picked up from the gutter six months before. Distinctly abnormal, but not in a way they understood. Maybe he was a mutation.

They had to use the nasogastric tube again, but this time they kept a continuous monitoring of brain waves, and Isaac had a good idea when he started to emerge from deep unconsciousness. This time, the tube was already removed when he opened his eyes and felt his face. He had a beard now, as he'd been three months without a shave. But to their disappointment, he only asked for a razor, as he'd done repeatedly before. Oddly, now he knew for sure that he was a prisoner, he treated his nurses with less suspicion. It seemed he liked to know where he was.

Some of the guards were beginning to know him by sight now, and were pleased when he was seen outside again, although in a wheelchair, and again very pale and thin.

Rockdale was pushing his wheelchair, and Isaac walked alongside. But now Isaac introduced him to three soldiers. He gave him their Christian names, Zack, Rudy, and Bob. Without any further attempt at pretence, Isaac said, "These are your guards. There are others. Whenever you're outside your room, at least two of them will be close, and will ensure that you do not escape. Sergeant Major Zack Willis is in charge of you, and if you have any unusual requests, you should ask Zack."

John, perfectly politely, shook the hands of the three soldiers, feeling their presence, but wishing they'd wear something he could see better. They were clear enough sometimes, but then they faded into the background again. He glanced at his own shirt, the bright red-orange that had pleased him so greatly when it was laid out for him. He realised now what a disadvantage that conspicuous colour could be.

That day, and for the next few days, he did little except try and regain his strength. He was eating well again, but refused to step onto the scales so that Isaac could measure his weight. He wouldn't answer any questions either, saying that he didn't believe in cooperating too much with his gaolers.

They didn't try and force him. They treated him with a great deal of care, in fact. They wanted to find out as much as possible about him, about what he was, and they knew for sure that he had an unusual power. Maybe he could be very dangerous. Whenever they doubted, they had only to look at that film again. They didn't know why he hadn't done it since, as it was obvious he hated his ugly beard. It was thin and patchy still, bedraggled looking, even after three months. Whatever else he might be good at, it was not growing beards.

The other thing was his possible telepathy. He seemed to know exactly when people were close, though his eyesight was so poor. And he'd known there was something wrong with his meal that time.

Isaac was blaming his patient's erratic eyesight on the head injury, as he blamed the frequent stagger, always to the left, and the attacks of trembling. The amnesia, too, of course. In consultation with Colonel Bedville, they decided to allow him as much freedom as possible. They would learn more about him than if he were kept closely confined.

It was deemed absolutely essential that he not be allowed to escape. He was an unknown quantity, and potentially dangerous. So now there was a second perimeter fence nearing completion, just as high, and topped with barbed wire. There was an electrified fence after that, and another lower fence, just to keep possible trespassers from electrocuting themselves. The guards, with their German Shepherds, patrolled between the two high fences. There was no ambiguity. The subject was not expected to be strong enough for a serious escape attempt for a while, but once he was, he was to be killed rather than be allowed past the perimeter of the Compound.

***chapter end***


	10. Chapter 10

_Part 2, __Chapter 3:_

John was walking again, although still with a cane. Zack walked with him, Rudy and Bob close by, while his nurses had some time off. He was always escorted by guards now, rather than nurses, even though the male nurses were soldiers too. All of his personal guards had been MPs, most of them with the rank of sergeant, and none of them, they thought, were likely to be defeated if the subject tried to fight. But John took his escort of large men for granted, and had a knowledge somewhere within him, that they could be friends.

Zack walked on his left, where he could steady him when he staggered. John was walking alongside the Administration Building, studying it. Sometimes it was clear, and sometimes it was a featureless blur. He came to the imposing main entrance and turned to look at it. "That's Staff Only," said Zack. Lots of places were Staff Only. It annoyed John.

"Who's the boss here?" he abruptly asked of Zack.

"Well, I am," said Zack, misunderstanding. "You have to do what I say." He sometimes thought that John didn't quite understand that.

But John said, "I mean the overall boss - who's in charge?"

"Colonel Mark Bedville is in charge," Zack calmly replied.

"I'm going to see him," announced John, and started toward the steps.

"John, wait," said Zack. John ignored him. "You can't go in there," said Zack. He was reluctant to physically intervene, as John was still so thin and weak, and he didn't want him fighting. He put his hand on his arm, gently restraining.

John said firmly, "A prisoner has a right to know why he's a prisoner. I'm going to see the boss."

Zack hesitated, now holding tighter to his determined charge. "We'll ask," he said, and he guided John toward another man, whom John suddenly saw, because Zack was looking at him. Zack saluted and put the request.

The lieutenant looked curiously at the subject, who glanced at him, then looked back at the large building, cocking his head slightly, and extending his senses. Many people were in there. But he wanted to see the boss.

Within five minutes, they had their answer. The Colonel would see John in half an hour.

John sat down on the steps and waited. He had nothing better to do right now. There were already cameras in most of the corridors of the building, just in case they were needed. Now they were activated, set into play by a technician who hurried through the enclosed corridor that connected from the even larger building that housed Ward 3. Three cameras were rigged to cover the Colonel's large office. The message came back as soon as everything was prepared. It had only taken twenty minutes.

John stumbled as he rose, misjudging the steps. Zack grabbed his arm and was calmly thanked. Zack grinned to himself. John didn't treat him as if he was an enemy, but as if he was an equal, taking it entirely for granted when he was helped.

Colonel Mark Bedville was fifty. He was a tall, rangy man, with a searching expression. His hair was sparse, but carefully groomed, his uniform immaculate. John's casual attire, his apparent youth, his long hair held back in a ponytail, and above all, his scruffy beard and half starved appearance, did not appear to measure up. But he nodded when the Colonel introduced himself, and said, "Hello, Mark."

The Colonel blinked. So did John's three guards, ranged at his back. No-one called Colonel Bedville 'Mark,' except, presumably, his wife. But Mark greeted John amiably, and invited him to sit down. There was a knock at the door and a young soldier brought in coffee and a tray with plates of sandwiches and cakes.

John smiled at the young man, who was looking acutely anxious. But John invariably liked anyone who brought him food, and it appeared that the Colonel had a sweet tooth.

The Colonel spoke about the hot summer weather, and asked John what the climate was like in his part of the country. John looked surprised and said that he had no part of the country.

Mark smiled at him pleasantly. "What's your real name?"

John looked away. He knew now that John Doe was just a convenient name for an unknown hospital patient. Zack was suddenly acutely sorry for him. He was sick, he'd lost his past, and he was a prisoner.

But John only took another sandwich, rose and leaned against the wall, and coolly looked at the middle-aged man in front of him. "I want to know why I'm a prisoner," he stated. "I have a right to know."

Mark looked at him assessingly. "Very well, I'll show you."

He had it ready, that piece of film that he'd watched many times. And now he watched it again, as did Zack, and Rudy behind him. Bob was close to the Colonel, and to him, it was not in view. But John saw, and saw clearly. He frowned and looked closer. "Run it again," he said, his tone one of casual command.

Mark was surprised again, but ran it again, and a third time.

John finally turned back to Mark, and spoke in a tone of polite incredulity, "And _this_ is why I'm a prisoner, someone's idea of an April Fool's Day joke?"

Mark gaped, and checked the date. It had been filmed on the first of April. _Could_ it have been an April Fool's Day Joke? But he remembered, there were witnesses, four at the public hospital, and two in the room with him at the time, plus observers behind the see-through wall. Also film from other cameras, though they didn't show it as well.

He regained his composure, and now spoke in a tone of authority. "You have shown a power that we do not understand. This is why you will never be released."

John's expression didn't change, but his voice quivered slightly, "I will _never_ be released?"

The Colonel spoke gravely. "You _cannot_ be released. We don't understand what happened. You will never be allowed back into the community when you have an ability that could be dangerous."

John felt his total conviction. The man meant what he said.

There was a long silence. John still leaned against the wall. His face was cold, expressionless. At last he spoke. "This place, surely it's not just for me!"

Mark nodded, and half smiled, "Just for you."

"It must be incredibly expensive. What happens if there's a budget cut and the place is closed down? Would I be released then?"

The Colonel's voice left no room for doubt. "You will never be released."

John nodded. "Thank you for telling me." He turned his back and left. Zack said nothing as he headed back toward his room.

His nurses greeted him. John regarded them and said that he was no longer sick, did not need nurses, and that they should leave him alone for a while.

Zack nodded. "Leave him alone for a while." He wouldn't really be alone, they'd be watching from the next room.

They watched for a long half hour, as John sat in a chair, head lowered, and was still. He would never be released. He looked up, straight at Isaac, who was watching behind the wall. Isaac knew the situation. Mark was there, too, standing at the back of the room.

John rose. He hated that wall. He knew there were people there, watching, watching, all the time. There was an IV stand in the room, which still looked exactly like a hospital room. John picked it up, went to where an observer peered at him from too close, and suddenly crashed the weapon into the wall, making the watcher jump back with a startled cry. John smiled.

Then, methodically, he started hitting the wall, working along the walls, searching for weaknesses. But the wall was bulletproof, and no IV stand was going to break it, no matter with what determination it was wielded.

He then turned to the rest of the room.

"Stop him?" one of the soldiers asked the Colonel.

Colonel Bedville shook his head. "Let him alone." And they only watched as John methodically destroyed everything in that room that could be destroyed. He turned his attention to the adjoining bathroom, shattering the mirror, but managing only to crack the toughened glass of the shower cubicle.

He returned to the main room, peered suddenly at where a camera was, and hit it, precisely, with his fist. The man who'd been watching the film as it happened, flinched and recoiled.

John was swaying with fatigue, but tried the external door, surprised to find it not locked. He was reeling and staggering as he left the room, depending heavily on his cane. His three guards merely followed at a distance. John went to his favourite tree, looked up at the branches where he wanted to be, but instead sat below it and stared into the distance. There was no place private enough even to cry.

Zack, Rudy, and Bob kept an eye on him, but left him alone to brood. Zack felt the vibration of the zoster he carried in his chest pocket, and spoke to Isaac. John was to be left alone, but preferably taken for lunch when he was ready. Repairs were being undertaken in his room, and he was to be taken to the staff dining room as a temporary measure. Isaac didn't really want him missing meals, but thought he might well be too upset to eat.

But John was only staring into the distance, not fully realising himself how close he was to collapse. He didn't have the strength for tantrums, and after a while, he lay down and slept, until Zack gently shook him, asking if he wanted lunch. John looked at him blearily before pulling himself to his feet, Zack's steadying hand under his elbow.

There was another large building, 'Staff Only' again, where the soldiers ate, where most of them slept, and where there were some recreation facilities provided. Isaac had a secondary office there, as well, where he saw any of the staff who needed medical attention. John was not his only duty, though it was the primary one. More facilities were being organised, as security could be compromised if staff had ties outside the base. Another building was going up, more accommodation for soldiers. There had been some changes over the last month, and now there were hardly any who were married, except some of the officers and a few of the specialists.

The few soldiers having a late lunch stared at the subject curiously as John came in, accompanied by three guards. He was of only average height, very thin, and Zack was helping him again as he swayed unsteadily. It was a cafeteria arrangement, and he smiled at the pretty woman who doled out an excellent meal.

"I thought I might be on bread and water," he said to Zack and Bob who were eating with him, though Rudy had taken position near the door.

"I wouldn't go making a habit of destroying things," Zack said, "But I've heard no plans to punish at this stage."

John shrugged. He was a lab rat, he supposed, and people didn't punish lab rats, they only noted down their interesting behaviours.

When he finished his meal, he said to Zack, "Isaac said to ask you if I had requests. I would like a proper bedroom please, where no-one watches, and where there's no cameras, and I'd like a window."

Zack hadn't known that he knew about the cameras that surrounded him, but only said that he'd speak to the Colonel. He thought it a perfectly reasonable request. He'd go mad himself, he thought, if he found himself under constant surveillance. He was looking forward to seeing the film of John destroying 'Ward 3.'

Isaac came in and joined them at the table. "Feeling better?" he asked John.

John said calmly, as he stood, "Maybe I'd best just have another dessert." He introduced himself to the woman that time, and smiled at her beguilingly, "Please, Sylvia," and she went to the trouble of getting him another dessert, although all the food had been put away.

Isaac watched approvingly. The man was too thin. There was a new feature in Ward 3 now, John's weight would be automatically monitored every day as he walked through the door.

Two weeks later, John was told that he'd be put back into Ward 3 if he became sick again, but they showed him to a small suite of rooms, sitting room, bedroom, and bathroom. There was only one entrance from the corridor, which opened to the sitting room. No-one watched the action on camera as it happened, as Isaac suspected that he could sense the presence of the cameras when they did that. But he knew his half blind patient would be unlikely to see the tiny lenses of cameras that peered at him from a dozen different angles.

John was delighted with his quarters, and showed his pleasure. The sitting room was spacious and comfortably furnished. It had a collection of music, and a player, and equipment to show films, a selected assortment arranged ready for his use. 'The Great Escape' was not among them. He went to look out of the window, suddenly seeing clearly as Zack joined him. There was a large tree, and a garden bed being worked on by a gardener. He may have been a prisoner for life, but he was to be very well treated, it seemed.

"The windows are barred, and of toughened glass besides," said Zack, in a matter-of-fact tone. "You'll be locked in every night, but you'll be alone. If you need something, the buzzer is next to the door."

John looked, went across to the door, but didn't find the clearly marked buzzer until Zack touched it, and he put his hand to it, too.

Zack continued. "Breakfast will be brought to you at seven in the morning, and you'll be released at eight, unless we need you for anything. Other meals will be at noon, and at seven. There are coffee making facilities in the sitting room, as well as packets of biscuits, etcetera, and you can come and go freely during the day provided that you behave. Colonel Bedville asks especially that you cooperate with your doctor when he does his tests."

John looked around him with satisfaction, and smiled at Zack. "This is much better. Thank you."

Zack smiled back. It appeared that the subject was reconciled to being a prisoner, and after all, it was an easy and comfortable life. But still, business like, he explained the procedure when someone was coming into his room, a place near the far wall where he should stand and wait. "They can check from the corridor, of course," said Zack, still in a business-like tone, as if it was perfectly normal that a sick and half blind man should be treated as a potentially dangerous prisoner.

Zack said, "By the way, there's an electric shaver in the bathroom."

John gave a smile of delight, "A shaver?" But he was puzzled when it was pointed out. It seemed he was unfamiliar with electric shavers, and even when Zack demonstrated, he shaved awkwardly, feeling his face, unable to see well enough in the mirror. But afterwards, he was clean-shaven finally, and only had a few very small whiskery patches left. And his eyes were merry when he turned back to Zack, who still waited in the room, though the others were now just outside his door. "Much better!" he declared happily, and Zack clapped him on the shoulder.

The light in John's bedroom was remotely operated, and he was never in darkness, the light at night only lowered somewhat, though there was a switch to make it brighter again if he wanted. In all his remembered life, he had never slept in darkness. He never queried his lack of choice.

John wasn't a fool. He could be friends with his guards, but they were his gaolers, and they knew their duty. Zack and the rest carried stunners, batons and even handguns. And if necessary, they would not have the slightest hesitation in using them. They were professional soldiers. But until they were in conflict, they could be friends.

_**x**_

Over the next weeks, John walked further, and explored the grounds. He seemed cheerful, and was easy with his personal guards. They thought their job was turning out more pleasant than they'd expected.

The Colonel watched some film with Isaac one day, an edited collection that showed John's introduction to the new bedroom, and clips of him relating to his guards, and to Isaac. John still refused to cooperate in any tests when requested, but it was in a perfectly good humoured fashion. They hadn't attempted to force anything on him. Colonel Bedville made a comment. "I'm surprised he's settled down so well. The way he knocked out Will and destroyed Ward 3 didn't leave me optimistic."

Isaac said, "You forget. He has total amnesia which appears to be permanent. He doesn't know any other home, and as long as we treat him well, I expect he'll remain perfectly contented."

"He seems to be getting a lot stronger."

Isaac nodded. "Weight's improving all the time, and he's walking further and faster each day. The stagger that he used to show is gone, although he still has trembling attacks, maybe related to the fitting he's prone to."

Mark said with satisfaction, "We're learning things about him, too. The strategy of allowing him a reasonable degree of freedom is a good one."

Isaac remarked, "I wish I could get him to do an IQ test, and maybe a personality test. It's clear he's unusual."

Mark looked at him, thinking that they might be able to try a little trickery. There were demands for quicker results in certain quarters, and Mark had watched enough film of the subject that he felt a certain fondness for him. If Colonel Forster was put in charge of him, for instance, John could be treated very differently.

It may have been a relatively pleasant captivity, but John wanted his freedom. He was too well guarded, the fences were too high, even the entry drive now had two guarded gates, only one of which was ever opened at a time. Every day he walked the perimeter, which was now beginning to show a track, as it was a favourite walk of off duty soldiers, as well. He made friends with the dogs first, but soon knew most of the perimeter guards by name. The only conceivable escape would be by taking a hostage, but John recoiled at the idea. In any case, Rick had happened to mention that they had orders to sacrifice any hostage up to and including a general, rather than allow his escape.

He'd found some privacy now, in the treetops. He could see well in the trees, as it seemed they helped him. Even without touching, he could feel within himself where the branches were. He was quick and nimble, a lot more so than his guards realised. They always just stayed around at the foot of the tree that he climbed, knowing he was there from the flash of bright colour high above. But John habitually took his shirt off, left it in his favourite tree, and then leapt to the next tree, and then another and another, ending up a considerable distance from his guards.

He spent hours just watching the gate, waiting for the times when his vision would clear, tolerating the times when he could barely see. He thought nothing of his eccentric vision. It was just the way he'd always been able to see. But security was complete. How on earth could he escape? Just one man, and there were scores of guards. And they were not careless or incompetent guards. From a high perch in a tree, he'd watched them at Physical Training, he'd watched them when they ran obstacle courses, and he'd watched them at rifle practice, which made him shudder somewhat, but he had to know.

The birds of the trees liked him, and he liked to talk to them. It was autumn, and they were no longer nesting. But John never called them from the sky when people watched. He never saw other people talking to birds, and had become very secretive about anything which he thought might be unusual, though he still was sure that the film of the so-called 'shave' some weird joke.

They said he had more privileges because he was being well behaved. But John studied Isaac as he told him that he could use some of the soldiers' facilities whenever his personal guards permitted, the gymnasium, and the swimming pool as soon as it was complete. It was more of the same, a way of Isaac and Mark measuring his fitness and looking for evidence of unusual powers. There were still cameras everywhere. But John was sincerely pleased. Isaac thought he was still too thin, but John thought he was strong, not knowing how far he was from his normal fitness.

Every day then, he added a stint in the gymnasium, his efforts always noted by Isaac. And when the indoor pool was finished, he started swimming every day, too. He knew a lot of the soldiers now, especially those who shared his tastes in exercise. They knew him as a personality, not just as the subject. Except for breakfast, he ate in the staff dining room, and his personal guards only watched from a distance as he joined those he knew, and laughed and joked with them, although there had been some natural awkwardness at the beginning.

It was the soldiers' talk that alerted him to a deprivation he hadn't even noticed. He was never allowed to watch TV or hear the radio. Isaac thought talk of current events might disturb him. He had films to watch, and now sometimes invited a guard or one of the nurses to join him. Only if someone watched with him could he really see what was happening, and he needed to know there was an outside world.

One Sunday, Rudy suggested that he should attend the weekly Church Service that was always held for the soldiers. John agreed, mostly on the basis that it was a good idea to seem settled. But he was soon yawning, fidgeted like a child, and left with relief.

The trees lost their last leaves, and John could no longer hide from his guards. He gave up swinging himself through the trees, as he wanted to preserve that ability for use next summer. The thought that he would still be there next summer made him very restless.

There was one of the perimeter guards whom he'd talk to every morning, as he made his customary circuit of the Compound. The officers had been told to encourage this sort of interaction, and the soldiers were expected to report on the conversation, especially if anything interesting was said. The way the trained attack dogs fawned on the subject was another piece of evidence that he was something different.

John liked Alec, and Alec was lured into talking about his family, and about the everyday doings of the small town he'd grown up in. John couldn't get enough, and listened avidly as Alec talked, John on his side of the high barbed wire topped fence, and Alec on his, Butch usually curled up next to the fence, as close to John as he could get.

The weather was getting colder, and although the large outdoor swimming pool was now finished, no-one ventured in. The heated indoor pool was popular, though. There began to be talk of Christmas plans, and John became more and more restless, no longer able to totally hide his discontent from those who watched. He'd come to realise that he did, after all, have cameras watching in his room, though he didn't know from where they looked. So when his eyes followed the women who worked in the cafeterias, or the few female soldiers, he turned away again. He had no privacy to be with a woman, and he thought that if he came too close, just to talk, it would hurt only more.

The soldiers had a pleasant job. There was only one man to guard, and he was easy to get on with, never threatened anyone, and seemed content to be just where he was. Security was relaxed, though still efficient. John's personal guards were satisfied to know where he was, and didn't stay very close except when he wanted company. There were usually only one or two now.

A female worker wanted to show her new baby to her workmates in the cafeteria, though it was not strictly allowed. John was at lunch, chatting to Kyle and Edward, with whom he'd been swimming. He looked up. Sheila had been heavily pregnant when she left, and now she had a tiny baby in her arms. She was surrounded by cooing workmates, and even some of the soldiers had gone to have a look.

Irresistibly attracted, John rose from the table, took a few steps, and held out his hands, a plea on his face. Sheila hesitated, but then put her baby in his arms. John held the tiny girl with an obvious familiarity, and caressed the soft cheek. He had tears in his eyes. No-one was very worried that he could be dangerous to either Sheila or her baby, his fighting ability having been almost forgotten.

Quite suddenly, he handed back the baby, turned and walked out, striding. His guards were caught inattentive, one having gone to the toilet. John had a long lead. He couldn't leave, of course. There was no alarm, no risk of an escape, the personal guards more to make sure that John didn't hurt himself or anybody else than to prevent escape.

By the time he came to the fence, he'd shed his shoes and socks. He scrambled over the first fence, ignoring the deep wounds from the barbed wire, crossed the intervening strip, only briefly patting Butch as he passed, and was up and over the second fence, ruthless with himself, as more deep scratches hurt him. Alec ran toward him, shouting, too late to use the stun gun.

The orders came just in time, and the electrified fence was no longer lethal when John scrambled over it. He was at the last barrier. Alec called again, and then sent a stream of bullets across his legs. John jerked and his legs dangled uselessly, and still he pulled himself up over the fence and dropped down the other side. He tried to get up and walk, but his wounded legs would not support him. Fallen, he still stretched a hand in the direction he longed to go.

Alec let himself and Butch out, and ran to his friend whom he'd had to shoot. Butch was already there, as John turned himself over onto his back. The pain hit, and John clutched a handful of the dog's thick ruff and buried his face against the strong warm body until it eased.

Butch whimpered, and licked his face. John took a deep breath, and when Alec knelt beside him, distressed, he smiled slightly at him, and apologised for putting him in that position. But then he closed his eyes, and just waited. There was so much blood - from his legs, and from cuts all over his body. Barbed wire was sharp. It was his own fault. He'd lost control, just because he held a baby. But the memory of the tiny face sent a pain through him just as sharp as that of the bullet holes in his legs.

They let Butch go with him when they took him back to Ward 3. Touching the dog seemed to help him cope with the pain. He refused any injection, only saying to Isaac, perfectly calmly, that he was terrified of injections, and would fight if they persisted. Isaac nodded. Silly, silly man, how could he have been such an arrant fool? He had the story now, that holding a baby had so upset him that he'd made the doomed escape attempt. Isaac thought it might instead have been a suicide attempt. It was obvious that his apparent contentment had been either a sham, or short-lived.

Whether he was frightened of drugs or not, he had to be anaesthetised when the bullet wounds were repaired. But he was weak from loss of blood as well as pain and shock, and when Zack and Bob held him down, the initial injection was made quite easily, to Isaac's relief.

The wounds were not as bad as they first looked, one bullet had shattered his right tibia, but the fibula was still intact. His left leg had taken two bullets, but both had gone straight through, one just barely grazing the tibia. The soft tissue, however, was a mess. It wasn't Isaac's area of expertise, and a surgeon was brought in. The repair work was done within the facility, a small, but well equipped operating theatre and X-Ray Department housed within the same block that included Ward 3, and John's living quarters.

When he woke again, much later that night, John turned his head slowly to look through that horrible wall. The man who observed turned his eyes away. It made him nervous when the subject met his eyes, when it was not supposed to be possible.

The IV stand looked a little bent, but a plastic bottle of blood dripped down through the narrow tube. Comprehension dawned, and the needle was yanked out before the nurse could intervene. Isaac just shrugged. It was no good persevering, John was a very stubborn man. And anyway, it might teach him a lesson when he realised how slow his recovery would be if he didn't allow a blood transfusion. It had long been established that his blood group was shared by at least a tenth of the population. He was not unusual in that respect.

***chapter end***


	11. Chapter 11

_Part 2/__Chapter 4__:_

There were still nearly two months before Christmas. Colonel Bedville came to see John as he sat outside in a wheelchair a few days later, his right leg stretched out in front of him. He looked a touch pale, but Isaac said that he was making a fast recovery. It was the first time that the Colonel had come face to face with him since John had demanded an explanation of his captivity. The patient looked a lot better now, beardless, and altogether healthier.

John greeted him calmly and instantly as Mark. This was another of those odd things about John. Various pieces of film made it clear how poor was his vision, especially film of those first nights and days when he was alone in his new quarters. But this fact didn't seem compatible with the way he could recognise people. Mark pushed John's wheelchair himself, saying he wanted to sit down with him and have a chat. And when he stopped, it was next to an outdoor table setting. It was new. The gardens were beginning to show evidence of care and attention.

Mark said little for a while. The cool eyes of the subject surveyed him, and Mark felt an unfamiliar discomfort. He finally spoke abruptly, "What can we do to make you happy here? You can't leave, but you're not a criminal, and I don't want to punish."

John smiled. "What can you do to make me happy?" And he leaned back in his chair, put his hands behind his head, and his smile broadened. "I want a place that's totally private that I can take a girl, if only I manage to convince one to come with me."

Mark stared at him, and then broke into laughter. This was the last thing he'd expected.

John added, "You could replace Zack and the others with soldiers with names like Mandy, or Sue, or Tracey..."

Mark shook his head, but smiling. "You've just proven that personal guards are needed, and not for sex."

John shrugged, "Shame."

Mark asked more seriously, "Do you have any complaints about your guards?"

John shook his head. "Only that they're there, but I presume that's not negotiable. Otherwise, they're good blokes. I like them."

Mark was thinking about Alec Roberts. The boy had been very upset, hovering close as his dog sought to console the man he'd shot. His voice was serious as he said, "Private Roberts said that you apologised to him, you said that you should not have put him in that position."

John shrugged, and was silent. Mark waited. John glanced at him and said, "I'm not some sort of a Martian, in spite of what you may think. I'm only human, and something upset me."

"The baby?"

John was looking away, his face sad. "Have you thought that maybe somewhere I have a wife and a baby of my own? It's possible."

Mark spoke stiffly. "You can't miss what you don't remember."

John said nothing. He was homesick. Whether or not he remembered a home, he didn't even know whether he had a home, but he was homesick. But why tell his gaolers that? Instead he turned a brilliant smile on the boss, and said, "A horse would be nice, especially if I can ride further than the perimeter. Someone said that army land goes a lot further than the Compound."

Mark rose. "I doubt if that will be possible." Inexplicably, he wanted to apologise to the young man who was a prisoner, but reminded himself sternly of his duty. John had to be kept very, very secure. He may not have been a Martian, but even without further evidence of an inexplicable power, he was quite obviously not an ordinary man.

Two weeks after the shooting, John was trying to stand, complaining when it still hurt too much. Isaac was amused. "Surely you don't expect a shattered bone to heal in two weeks. It was a very nasty wound. Amputation was considered, except that I remembered a report of very quick healing before when you were injured."

"What injury was that?" asked John, innocently.

But the injury had been from a rape, and Isaac cursed himself for mentioning it. In that particular instance the amnesia was a mercy. He ignored the question. "It's healing very well. Probably in another week you can get about on crutches, but don't forget the other leg's hurt as well."

John stretched his left leg. "It's almost better. I can hardly feel it."

Isaac raised his eyebrows, and asked to see it. There was another report to make. The subject healed miraculously quickly, and obviously expected to, not apparently having any idea how long such an injury might be normally expected to take. The cuts all over him had scarcely shown any traces after just a few days.

John didn't treat his guards any differently, greeting Alec as if nothing had happened when he saw him at dinner one evening. Alec had been given a commendation. He still felt bad, and John put some effort into making him smile.

Colonel Bedville put into place more security measures, although the money needed was allowed begrudgingly. Results were too slow in coming, was the word from above. More tests should be done. The subject should be kept under a much tighter discipline. But Colonel Bedville felt that he had something very special in the person of John. He had begun to develop a considerable respect for his subject. He'd allowed him to know the guards as friends, which might make them reluctant to stop him if needed, which could be a problem. But there was the other side of it. There was the power that he might have, that it seemed he might have forgotten how to use. Maybe he could be very dangerous indeed. But he was human, and he would be reluctant to hurt the guards who were his friends. Even his concern for Alec showed that.

A pair of secure high fences was started around the outer area of the army land, similar to those that surrounded the Compound. There was to be another electrified fence between, and the guards would patrol outside the two fences. The rifles were sufficiently high powered that they could go straight through the wire, as long as the guard didn't hit one of the steel uprights. This time, they were not going to use dogs - it was pointless when all the dogs quite obviously doted on John.

The fences would securely enclose nearly three thousand acres, including, of course, the Compound. Different soldiers would guard the outer fence, but their accommodation would be away from the Compound, and they would not be allowed to meet the subject at all. These ones would not hesitate to shoot if John succeeded in getting that far. For the present, he was lame, and Mark had ignored the hints that it might be better if he were always lame. The man could barely see. Wasn't that enough handicap for one person?

John was bored, not able to walk, and not allowed to get his plastered leg wet, so he couldn't swim either. He took to watching the soldiers at their regular PT and training sessions. One lot went in the morning, and another lot in the early afternoon. It seemed it was a routine part of what was expected of a soldier. There was to be a general soon to inspect, their drill had to be perfect, and the sergeant loudly berated the soldiers drawn up in their orderly ranks.

John watched from his wheelchair. Even with his leg in plaster, there were always at least two guards again. Sergeant Davies was irritated when John interestedly asked Zack why the one in charge was being so rude to the others. John met his glare with a bland look, and when Zack answered with the statement that it was the custom, asked why. The closest men could hear, and were battling not to giggle.

Sergeant Davies stalked across to Zack and demanded that John be taken away, as he was disturbing the men. Zack shrugged. Davies didn't outrank him, and he was finding John's amusements a little entertaining himself. John smiled at Davies, and told him helpfully that he thought the man second from the end had his fly undone. At this, there were a few chuckles, though when Davies furiously wheeled on them, silent impassive faces concealed their amusement.

Harassing the sergeant amused John, and there was nothing the sergeant could do to stop him. But then the general made his visit. John didn't meet the general, though he watched from his wheelchair as a private opened the car door, and the bent, grey-haired man disappeared into the Administration Building. A younger man was with him, a Colonel, Bob told him.

The following morning, Zack roused him very early, begged him to behave and took him to Ward 3. "You have to stay there for a while," Zack said, and put a film on for him to watch. John felt Zack's anxiety, and did as he was told, not even showing his resentment when he knew he was being studied from behind the see-through wall.

The following day, he was back watching Davies again, but this time, it wasn't drill. They were doing an obstacle course, and the men were racing, four at a time. John was interested as the heats continued, pulling himself to his feet, hobbling to the fence to get closer, and holding onto it as he watched. The men were shouting on their favourites by the time it was the finals, and so was John, to the amusement of Davies as well as Zack and Bob.

Davies and the men started to expect him, but it was weeks before Davies suddenly realised that he was designing the training with a consideration to what might amuse John.

A recurrence of problems made an appearance, even while he was still using crutches. Several times in the next weeks, John collapsed, racked with that searing head pain. They knew it was best not to disturb him when that happened, even when it lasted hours, and he was quite obviously in agony. Once, though, it happened outside, as he was watching another PT session. He tried to walk away when he felt the warning, hating to be seen by so many. But he only ever had a few seconds warning before he went down.

Oddly, Sergeant Davies, who complained so often about his presence, was most concerned, and it was Davies who gently lifted him onto a stretcher, and took an end as he was carried back toward Ward 3, where they still took him whenever he was sick. It was too cold to have left him outside, but when he was lifted onto his bed, he started fitting, to the acute concern of Davies, still present.

Isaac glanced at him. "It's not the first time," he reassured. "He's not a well man."

As usual, the collapse, whether he fitted or not, was followed by hours of unconsciousness, the EEG monitor showing readings akin to coma. Isaac wanted another brain scan, but he didn't want the scanner damaged again. And anyway, it never seemed to show any real difference.

John was up and about the day after, but when Zack asked him if he wanted to go and see the training, he first reddened, but then chuckled and looked at Zack with a wry amusement on his face. "I'm being ridiculous! I'm embarrassed just because I collapse in front of everyone, and yet there's not a minute of the day when I'm not being watched or filmed or both." He shook his head. "I might as well face them."

Davies was feeling bleak that day, and was punishing the men with blistering attacks on their physical fitness, ordering star jumps, and having them continue until most were at the point of collapse, and then straightaway starting them on pushups. A mocking voice said, "Being a bit harsh on them, aren't you, Rod?"

Davies spun around, a grin spreading all over his face. "Interfering again?"

John nodded, laughing. "I reckon you should make up for the lousy weather by giving them an early mark!"

But Davies wasn't having this, and only started the men on short runs, quick stops, and back again. He was disappointed, though, when he looked around again, and John was gone.

John was in the gymnasium. There didn't seem much he could do with one bad leg and one not so good, but there were a few things, and he needed to be strong, too. He wasn't staying here forever!

_**x**_

It wasn't even the middle of December when the plaster on John's right leg was removed, and it was X-rayed. Isaac was stunned. The healing was almost complete, though a nasty scar would be left. The plaster could be left off. The left leg was apparently totally healed, except for the inevitable scarring. John said with relief that it was about time.

Two days later, John was frightened. Something was wrong. He had a nightmare and woke screaming, fighting the bedclothes and finally falling to the floor. He was locked in, of course, and could only pace back and forth across the room until his leg became too painful and he had to sit. It was nearly dawn before he slept again.

But everything seemed normal in the morning, and he went about his usual activities, except that he was unable to walk far, having done too much in the night. He was nervous though, jumping violently when Rudy spoke to him unexpectedly. For a change, he hadn't noticed him come close. "I wish you'd wear a solid colour," he said pettishly. "I can't see you in that."

"What, even standing here?" said Rudy, very surprised.

"I don't see well, surely you know that!"

He spoke irritably, and Rudy wondered what was wrong. But John didn't know what was wrong.

Early in the afternoon, Rudy's zoster vibrated in his pocket. "We have to take you to Ward 3," he told John.

They were outside, and John looked at him, suddenly terrified, and put a hand to the trunk of a tree, as if for strength. Bob and Lance were also there. "We'd best go."

John didn't move. His eyes were wide, and his guards could see his fright. Bob spoke, puzzled. "There's no reason to think there's anything wrong. It's probably just another official or some such thing."

John looked into the distance and spoke softly. "When a lab rat is no longer useful, they kill it and do a dissection. They call it to 'sacrifice' the animal."

There was a brief silence, before Bob told him roughly not to be so silly. John didn't move, and Rudy said soothingly. "I'll ask what it is."

The sound from his zoster was not loud, and John watched as Rudy queried, and explained that John was frightened. John shook his head. He might be frightened, but he would not be able to stop them, no matter what they wanted to do. He was not so frightened of dying, but the idea that his body would be dissected for 'scientific research' filled him with a feeling of loathing and despair. But he took a deep breath, assumed a cool expression, stood straight, and started walking.

His guards were relieved. The three of them could overpower him, of course. In fact, any one of them should be able to, and without using any weapons. But they far preferred not to come into open conflict with him.

Isaac and Mark waited for him in Ward 3. Mark gave a casual reply to the usual respectful salutes of the guards, and said that one should stay, the others wait outside. Isaac said reassuringly to John that there was nothing to worry about, and half laughed as he told him that he was certainly not a lab rat that was about to be 'sacrificed.'

John still wore his expressionless mask, and only leaned against the wall and waited. Isaac glanced at Mark, and said, "We're your friends, you can trust us."

But, perfectly coolly, John replied, "You are not my friends, you are my gaolers."

Mark said rather stiffly that he was no longer a gaoler, as he was leaving, and Colonel Forster would be taking his place.

John said politely that it had been nice to know him, but he began trembling, even as he still wore his impassive pose. Mark looked at him a moment, and then abruptly turned and left, not staying to watch, but going to his office to pack his personal possessions.

Colonel Forster was in the observation room, and had noted the limp. John was a bit pale, too, from a collapse the previous day, though it hadn't lasted long. And now he was trembling. Forster smiled to himself. He certainly wasn't fearsome. Forster planned to get a lot more results, a lot faster than Bedville. He entered the room, Lance opening the door for him, before resuming his position outside with Bob. Rudy, Isaac and John waited.

Colonel Forster strode in, addressing John. "Things will be changing," he said. "You've been coddled. You've had it soft. From now on, if you do not cooperate fully when tests are made, you will be punished. For a start, you are about to have another brain scan, as Doctor Berg requires, one in which you remain conscious, as it is likely to give different results to those done when drugged or in a coma."

Isaac was looking worried. He had mentioned that he'd like a brain scan, but that was all. John's expression didn't change. Forster's face creased into a slight smile. "You cannot be trusted to stay still, so you will be firmly restrained."

With a sudden movement, John took two steps forward, and knocked him out with a very hard fist to the jaw. Rudy grabbed John by the arm, and he staggered slightly, but then only leaned against the wall again and his slight trembling resumed.

Isaac knelt by the side of Forster, gently touching his jaw. He gave a worried look at John. "You've broken his jaw - badly."

Rudy spoke softly, "_Shit_, John, you're in trouble now."

But John's voice was perfectly cool. "I rather think I was already in trouble." He looked at Rudy, "Now what?"

There were already communications flying, and Bob opened the door. "We're to put him in his quarters for the time being."

The three guards were very alert for any aggressive action, and John knew that this time they wouldn't hesitate to physically restrain him. He made no trouble, only entering his rooms as instructed and putting on a film to watch, selected at random. He looked up. He was being observed, and he now knew the position of at least one of the cameras.

He had to get away. It was no longer just homesickness, there was an acute feeling of insecurity. There didn't seem any way that he could escape unless he could somehow access that power that he'd seen just once on film, and didn't quite believe in. But all he'd managed so far was to somehow trigger the head pains that caused him such unbearable agony. It was a high price to pay. He couldn't attempt anything here of course, it might be seen, and when he did try anything, he'd made sure that it would not be picked up on camera. Just tiny things, like trying to make a blade of grass disappear, and he couldn't do that. He reminded himself that Mark firmly believed he had a power, and Mark Bedville was a shrewd man. It was more urgent now.

No-one came for a long time, and John found it impossible to stay still. He paced, back and forth across the room. Sometimes he stared forlornly out of the window, wanting the light of outdoors. He could always see better outdoors. A few times, he tried the door, though he had no expectation that it might not be locked.

Finally, the buzzer sounded. Someone was finally coming. He didn't try anything stupid like rushing the door, just stood back, and waited as Rudy, Zack, Bob and Lance all came in, looking grim. John wore again that cold, impassive face that concealed his emotion. He jumped. _Please, John, you have to behave_. It was Zack. Zack didn't know whether John would hear. His telepathy was only guessed at, and was quite obviously, not complete. It didn't seem as if he could really read minds, just that he sometimes had an abnormal sensitivity.

They escorted their prisoner back to Ward 3, the only comment was from Zack. "Colonel Forster is in hospital, having his jaw wired up."

John felt a satisfaction. He was not normally a vindictive man, but he'd felt Forster's pleasure as he contemplated a picture. And he'd seen the picture that Forster saw, of 'the subject' fighting against the restraints as he was manoeuvred into that terrifying space of the scanning machine. He'd been naked and uncovered, though why he should have been naked in that context was unclear. It was Forster's picture, not reality. John's face remained expressionless.

Mark waited for him, with a cold and authoritative persona. He was being very firmly the Colonel. Bob and Rudy stood right beside John, each of them holding an arm, as if to restrain him. Zack and Lance flanked Mark, standing a little in front of him. John was being treated as if he were a dangerous prisoner, and yet the feel of his guards didn't quite match. John stayed still, and waited.

The Colonel's voice was cold. "You have attacked a high ranking officer."

Suddenly, John felt something of _his _thoughts, too. Mark had his fingers figuratively crossed, and John's eyes flicked to where he knew a camera watched. This play was for the camera.

"You will be punished," said Mark, "and security will be tightened." But aside from being confined to Ward 3 for the rest of the day and night, the long list of regulations were only those already in place, although they sounded different when delivered in the cold, judgemental voice of the Colonel. Mark came to an end. "Clear?"

John answered in soldierly fashion, "Yes, Sir."

Mark nodded, "Very well, but I want to show you one thing more."

He nodded to Lance. Lance was a big man as all his guards were. Zack tried to send a message again to John, a message of reassurance as, one by one, Lance displayed the weapons he carried, the handgun whose capabilities Mark enumerated, the baton, and the stun gun, whose use that one time had nearly killed John. The capabilities of the stun gun were explained in detail. "The guards will not hesitate to use any of these weapons if they deem it necessary. There will be no more attacks on army personnel."

John said, "I understand, Sir." It was not a promise not to attack a soldier, but Mark didn't push his luck. The scene had gone a lot better than expected. John was unpredictable, and never had treated him with any exaggerated respect. This piece of film might help him stay in charge of the facility. There were few candidates, as John's existence was kept very quiet.

More hours of boredom, confined in the room that he hated. But John knew that he'd been let off very lightly. He suspected that he was a lot safer with Mark in charge, even though he so seldom saw him. He did a lot of pacing that day, until his leg became too sore. Mark was sorry for him, but some punishment was needed, even if only to show the general.

While John fretted against his close confinement, Mark had an argument with his wife. He wanted to cancel their planned three weeks' holiday, and couldn't tell her why, as John's existence was top secret. With Forster out of action, unable to talk, probably for months, the decision to replace him had been reversed, at least temporarily.

That Forster was to take over had been communicated to the Colonel just an hour before he arrived. But John seemed to have felt a warning well before then. For the first time, it had been reported that there had been a nightmare, and Mark watched the film - the awakening cry of terror, and his quivering agitation after as he paced the room. His guards reported his unusual irritability and nervousness that morning, as well. And there was his obvious fear when they'd been told to report to Ward 3, although similar things had happened before and he'd not seemed particularly disturbed at those times.

Mark knew that he must be feeling very insecure, worried that again there would be a change. Maybe he would become dangerous or suicidal, or maybe he would find himself able to access that mysterious power that even Mark sometimes doubted, in spite of the evidence. Mark wanted to stay, but his second-in-command had his orders, and would follow his policies, unchanged. And then Mark had his orders, too. His wife would not concede. Mark would be going on holidays, and Major Greenspan would be in command for the next three weeks.

Greenspan was a superstitious man, thoroughly nervous of the inexplicable. He'd always declined to meet John. 'Best to remain objective,' he said, and Mark agreed with that stated reason. There was no fear that John would be deliberately killed for dissection, as he'd suggested - it was supposed to be a civilised country. But there was a possibility that one day he might have to be killed for other reasons, such as if he seemed too dangerous, or, of course, if he was about to make his escape.

***chapter end***


	12. Chapter 12

_Part 2/__Chapter 5: _

The day after the Forster incident, as soon as he was released from his room, John went to his favourite tree, leapt up to the lowest branch, and swiftly climbed as high as he could. A bitter wind whistled, but John had as much privacy as he could ever manage. His guards shook their heads. They didn't understand his attraction to trees.

John held a twig. He paused, feeling the tree. There was no disturbance. He was fairly sure that there were no cameras in the tree, though no doubt there would be from further away. He turned his head, searching. Someone watched a screen, and there came to him a distant image of himself, facing the camera. It was a less comfortable position, but he turned his back to the camera, and then paused, feeling again. More images came to him, but none were clear enough that he thought anyone could see what he was doing. He turned his attention to the twig. The trouble was, he just didn't know how to go about it. And he had no confidence either, and confidence is essential if one wants to work magic. He didn't call it magic, even to himself. It was something that he might have used once to make his beard go away.

He tried to make the twig vanish. Again and again, searching inside himself where a mysterious ability might somewhere lie, somewhere in that part of him that seemed so blank. He thought he was just a shell, sometimes, a hollow man. He knew now that he was very badly damaged. He was not really just someone who'd only lived a short time.

After an hour, he ceased his efforts, wondering instead, bleakly, if he would suffer later for the useless attempts. Below, Rudy glanced up, and spoke to Zack. He was shivering himself, and said that John had to be frozen, sixty feet above the ground. Zack looked up as well. John was easily visible in his brightly coloured jacket, and seemed to be just staring into the distance. "I really don't think we should let him climb trees. If he fell now, he'd probably be killed, but the Colonel only says not to interfere."

But John was moving, rather stiffly and cautiously, and shortly let himself fall gently to the ground, yelping as he landed a little too heavily on his bad leg. He ignored his guards, and turned to walk toward the fence, limping rather more heavily than usual. Zack, Lance and Bob just shrugged, and set off after him. They didn't stay too close when he obviously didn't want them, just close enough to do their job. Alec came to him when he whistled, and grinned at him, "I hear you were a very bad boy."

But John wasn't disposed to talk about his misdemeanour, and Alec found himself describing the Christmas traditions of his family, instead. John didn't show how it hurt. He'd led the subject, and now listened intently, wanting to share a little. Alec had a few days off later, just four days, including Christmas Day and Boxing Day. "Are many people having time off over Christmas?" he asked.

Alec looked at him suspiciously. "There's to be no reduction in security, and the outside fences are finished now, besides B Force moving in tomorrow."

"B Force?"

Alec explained the extra layer of security now in place. John said, disgusted, "You'd think I was bloody Superman, or something!"

Alec felt guilty, but reported the conversation afterwards, as he always did, and the faceless advisers and analysts behind the scenes noted what was said, and drew their conclusions.

There was time before lunch, and John swam. He couldn't swim just when he wanted to any more, as there had to be two in the water with him in case he was struck with the pain, and two of his personal guards had still to be armed and alert outside the pool. Often, there was no trouble, as off duty soldiers used the heated pool regularly, and most were happy to be roped in for an hour. Kyle and Edward were both there that time. They hadn't happened to see him since he'd been shot in the legs, as their usual station was at the gates where he never went. But he greeted them as if nothing had happened. There were ugly marks on the front of his legs where the bullets had exited, although the entry wounds were only three quite neat marks on the backs of his legs.

Some of the soldiers couldn't understand that he didn't seem to resent them, but John thought that life would be impossible if he tried to live without the company of other people. The soldiers were all he had. Even the cleaners, gardeners and kitchen staff were soldiers, though he thought some of the specialist staff might not be. Kyle tried to draw him on the subject of his attack on Forster, but John didn't want to talk about it. Forster might be back, and the knowledge that he could be put in his power frightened him badly.

His bleak feeling made a resurgence at lunch time, as he heard someone complaining that they were not allowed to put up Christmas decorations. "We're not supposed to upset the Martian," said Hank, casting a sidelong glance at John. The soldiers tended to forget that there would be listening devices wherever the subject sat.

John looked at him, and suddenly smiled. "Aren't you the boxing champion?"

Hank grunted an assent. He'd been refused time off for Christmas, and was not feeling polite.

John sat back in his chair, put his hands casually behind his head, and said, "Well, the Martian is already upset, and I'd just _love _to hit somebody - how about a fight?"

Hank sneered. "I'm not an old man like Forster, taken off guard. _And_ I learned from professionals."

John's smile remained. "And I'm not really a Martian - Mars was abandoned long since. I learned my fighting on the streets of Kidos on Alpha Centauri, and you're just an American soldier. I reckon I can thrash you."

In a backroom, two men whom John had never seen, gaped at each other, before deciding it was probably just mischief. But one picked up a phone, and the decision was made. They never stopped John providing them with extra information.

Zack's zoster vibrated, and Zack was told not to interfere in the potential fistfight.

Hank looked around. The faces around him were expectant. Hank was not very popular. He'd learned his fighting at the hands of professionals, but he'd practised on any victim available, ever since early childhood, just a natural born bully. He looked questioningly at Zack, who had come to stand behind John. John still looked at Hank, whose face was suddenly more clear in his vision. Zack gave the verdict. "There has to be boxing gloves, but otherwise, if the potential participants want, the fight can go ahead."

Hank looked stunned, and John explained for him, kindly. "It's a bit like I'm an animal in a free range zoo, you see, they like to watch what I do."

Hank said, "I've got to go back on duty. I have no time."

John was disappointed, but only said, "Another time, then," and looked around restlessly. He wished there was something he could do. He'd already had a swim, he'd already talked to Alec, and he really did feel like hitting somebody.

Hank gave him an uneasy glance, and left.

John finally went to the gym, where he laid into the large punching bag instead, hitting as hard as he could until he was staggering in exhaustion, watched by his three guards.

John wasn't told when Mark Bedville left, in case it worried him. It made no difference - he remained observably restless, they presumed, nervous. He could put on an imperturbable expression when he chose, but he couldn't conceal his jumpiness when watched twenty-four hours a day.

Every day, he tried again to make something move or vanish, hiding as much as he could from the cameras and from his guards. There was no result, but he wasn't collapsing with head pain, either.

Shortly after Greenspan was left in charge, an argument blew up when Private Rawlings took exception to him looking at one of the few female soldiers, and he had a fight. As Zack insisted, they wore gloves, though John looked at his gloves with suspicion, and took five minutes to forget he wore them and start to hit back instead of just dodging.

They had their results. John didn't fight in the conventional style, apparently didn't know about using his gloves to deflect punches, but was lightning fast, and defeated Jimmy quickly enough that he looked both surprised and disappointed when Jimmy stood back, shaking his head, unwilling to take any more punishment. John had been scarcely touched. How he'd managed it when he was half blind was a mystery. Afterward, he walked straight into a projecting bar of one of the exercise machines.

Sunday, John's guards told him that he was to go to the church service and behave himself whether he liked it or not. It was orders.

John's attention wandered, as the Minister droned and hymns were poorly sang. The sermon, given the time of year, was to do with Christmas. The story of the babe in the manger. As always, John was watched. Was the story new to him? Father Herley was coming to the moral of his sermon. "How would we treat Jesus if we came to us today?" He paused for effect, and repeated his rhetorical question in a lower voice, as if musing. "How would we treat Jesus if we came to us today?"

A mocking voice answered him. "You'd probably put him in a secure facility and surround him with guards!" Even Rudy and Bob were laughing, as John was steered out. The congregation was in hysterics, to the considerable annoyance of Father Herley. It would be weeks before Father Herley saw the funny side of it.

_**x**_

Greenspan watched his subject on film, received his reports, and made a decision. They needed to keep a closer control of their subject. And he should not have as much close contact with the soldiers. John knew now in which state they were, though his casual question about the nearest town was evaded. John wasn't supposed to know where he was, or what was happening in the outside world.

He thought he was behaving well enough, doing what the guards said, and not even disputing when they denied him his swim because there were not enough helpers. It was an unpleasant surprise when the decree was relayed by Zack, that from now on, he'd be eating only in his own sitting room. The staff dining room was no longer open to him. But even then, he'd only sighed. After all, there was not much he could do. He was under the control of others. But he walked fast around the perimeter three times that day, scarcely limping, and not even talking to the dogs who were his friends, let alone the guards.

Alec was not there, gone to join his family for Christmas. John hoped that his wet eyes might be blamed on the bitter wind that whistled. It was over a year since he'd first been found in a gutter, though he called himself John Douglas, now. His memory went back less than nine months. He thought that in a way he was just a baby, but was fully aware that tantrums could be severely punished.

So when Rudy said it was lunchtime, he was docile as he was escorted back to his room, and a lunch was brought in on a tray. But it was not until the following day, Christmas Eve, that he took only a mouthful of his breakfast, before pushing it away. Greenspan had suspected he might do this, but there would be no choice. The biscuits that had previously been left in his room were gone, as John quickly discovered when he searched for an alternative to satisfy his hunger. Even the milk in the fridge wasn't right.

Isaac watched the film afterward, and advised Greenspan again that John was best left alone as long as he was being reasonably well behaved. But Greenspan replied, as he had before, that John had to be kept under control, and the strategy of keeping him under mild sedation, which could be manipulated as desired, would be maintained. "He's not going to starve himself to death, after all," said Greenspan.

John's personal guards knew that he was to be allowed nothing to eat other than the drugged food provided in his room. And they very soon knew that John was refusing to touch his food, tasting, but not eating even when the drug was reduced to a trace only.

Christmas Day came. John had the large noon meal delivered to his room, and Zack saw his nostrils quiver. He tried a taste, and threw the fork away from him, quite violently. "You think they could have given me some food I could eat, today, of all days," he complained, leaving the table, and trying the locked door.

"Orders," said Zack. "You have to come here every meal time, and you have to stay an hour."

John paced. Zack waited, stolidly, patiently. He was a soldier, and soldiers often had to obey orders they didn't agree with.

Christmas afternoon, John roamed the gardens, but no vegetables grew. "Not in the middle of winter," Rudy commented, guessing what he was after.

John said, with a wry smile, "Obviously, whatever I used to be, it was not a gardener." He took his perch in his tree for a while instead, contemplating refusing to come in for the evening meal. Maybe he'd just stay here until he died of hunger. Did chipmunks store nuts? he suddenly wondered, and walked the grounds, feeling if there were any chipmunks. But there were no nut trees, and there didn't seem to be any chipmunks.

On the fourth day, he staggered when he was roused for breakfast. There had been a nightmare that night, and he'd paced for hours afterward. Isaac saw the stagger on film. The film was always watched, but not as it was taken. John could detect the cameras when the screens were watched in real time. Isaac shook his head. He found it hard to comprehend his patient's stubbornness. He was losing weight fast now, and was weakening, but he didn't even try his breakfast, just waiting, pacing the floor until he heard the door unlock for his release. Greenspan was equally stubborn, insisting that the subject had to be kept under control, and nothing that Isaac said would change his mind.

Some of the soldiers were going on a route march that day, and John joined Sergeant Davies as the men prepared. "How far?" he asked.

"Twenty miles," answered Davies. He no longer objected very much to John's presence, and John no longer set out to irritate him. Lance and Bob were close, although not within hearing. Rudy was having a short break.

Davies glanced at him. "You're looking thin."

John nodded casually. "I've been on a hunger strike. I want female guards around me. But I'm willing to break it now, if you have something to eat on you."

Davies laughed and fished out a food bar. "It's army rations, but that's all I've got."

John made sure that his guards only saw his back, as he ate, voraciously. Silently, Davies handed him another. It was half gone before Rudy walked back, saw what he was doing, and yelled. John quickly stepped back, behind Davies, and finished the bar. Davies looked at them both, very puzzled.

Rudy strode across to John and firmly took his arm.

"What's going on?" Davies asked, puzzled.

Rudy said, quite roughly, that whatever John had been telling him, he was perfectly well fed, and it was his own fault if he chose not to eat. John just stood, his face expressionless. Rudy hesitated. Davies was looking hostile. Rudy said to John, "Go and join the men, I'm having a talk to Rod." John obeyed.

Davies nodded back at the men, "Sit, if you like." The men promptly sat, John with them. It hadn't occurred to him that the soldiers might be on his side, but Jimmy asked him if he was still hungry, and while his guard explained to Davies that Greenspan was trying to keep him sedated, John ate his fill. Bob and Lance pretended not to see.

John grinned at Jimmy and the others, thanking them. They were a bit confused, as he could only say that he hadn't liked his meals, not really knowing himself why he was so unwilling to eat the food provided. He only knew there was something wrong with it.

Davies disappeared, and the men lolled around for a half hour, John sitting among them, and storing a few of the food bars in his pockets for later. If he had a chance, he planned to climb a tree where they couldn't easily follow, and eat them there, although his guards were not trying to stop him eating. He felt better already.

Davies couldn't contact Colonel Bedville, and finally returned, saying quietly to Rudy that he'd try again later. Rudy nodded. Davies roared at the men, saying that inspections would be made, and any who hadn't their full ration pack should straightaway remedy the situation.

More food bars poured on a grinning John, as the men did as instructed, filing in to the store, and re-filling their ration packs. John was laughing. There may not have been much variety, but right now, the bland, hard ration bars tasted very good.

Finally, the men were lined up in their ranks, ready to march out. John called to Davies, asking if he could come, too, but Davies told him not to be so silly. John shrugged and said to Rudy, "Surrounded by forty soldiers, what could I do?" Rudy told him not to be so silly.

No-one hindered him as he climbed his tree, and stowed his food bars in the driest place he could find. He thought that he might stave off starvation for a few more days, especially if he managed to beg more from the men.

He was quite visible in his tree now, and Rudy nudged Bob, and pointed. There was a bird sitting on his shoulder, and another on a tree branch close to his head. All the birds and animals seemed to love John. There were a few cats who'd decided the base was a good home, and they always twined around his legs at any opportunity, though he wasn't allowed to have them in his room.

There was an especially aromatic meal that evening, and John yielded to temptation, and tried a mouthful but put it down again. He was locked in for the evening, and Zack was watching a film with him. There had recently been several added to the collection, and he hadn't seen this one. They didn't stint on expense, in small matters or big, and although the films were vetted, there were some new releases.

The buzzer went at the door, the indication that someone was about to enter. John rose, and waited in the designated spot. The guards briefly checked the outside scanner to make sure he wasn't near the door, and entered. He hardly saw the night guards, and Pete and Raymond were almost strangers. "New orders," said Raymond. "John's to be confined to Ward 3 until further notice." Two other guards waited outside. He was to be given a large escort, it seemed.

Even so, John hesitated as he went into the corridor, looking the wrong way. Zack said very quietly, "John, don't be silly." Raymond pulled out the stun gun. They knew now he could fight very well, and he'd been almost fully fit before Christmas, except for a still weak leg. They could feel his tension. Raymond had his arm firmly in one hand, the stun gun in another.

Zack put his hand on his shoulder, and said calmly, "Come on, John. We have to obey orders."

John yielded, and went in the direction desired, his expression again cold, impassive.

John didn't eat then for three days, as Greenspan insisted that he _would_ take the drugged food. When Isaac assured him that it was a minimal amount of tranquilliser, and would help him cope with the stress of imprisonment, he was not answered. John just paced, interminably, every day, until he staggered with weariness. They could have overcome him with injected drugs, but the aim was to get him accepting the food he was given, with the dose adjusted as they chose. Isaac was increasingly worried, and pointed out to Greenspan that John was so weakened that one of those attacks of head pain might kill him now. Greenspan was indifferent.

When Mark Bedville entered the room, John was pacing again, staggering now and then, not taking notice of his surroundings. He knew that people watched, all the time. He ignored them. He no longer even tasted the meals served up, no matter how tempting they appeared. They found it hard to comprehend his stubbornness.

"John?" Mark said. John glanced his way, and kept pacing. He looked terrible, and Mark suspected he was on the verge of total collapse. Compassionately, he said, "I'm back now, and your food will no longer be tampered with."

John paused, "Were you away?"

Mark nodded. "I came back early when I heard. This affair was not at my orders."

"Can I go out?"

Mark hesitated. John was never allowed out after dark, except to walk to the dining room and back. But he was obviously too much weakened to try anything now. He spoke to Raymond. "John's going out for a while. You and Fox just stay close to him, and we'll bring him something to eat outside."

John staggered as he left the hated room, and went right down on one knee as he stepped outside. But he looked around in gratitude. He was outside. Mark took his arm and pointed to an outdoor table setting. Isaac brought him a meal himself, just a bowl of soup to begin with, which John ate quickly.

"You can have something else in a little while," Isaac said. John started trembling. He'd been trembling a lot lately. No-one commented, and after a while, it died down.

John was looking at the stars, faint, as the Compound was brightly lit. "This is the first time I've seen the stars," he said. But then the stars were lost, as Peter looked at him instead, very surprised. They tended to forget that his remembered experiences were so limited.

It took a few days for John to feel strong again, and would take longer to regain the lost weight. It didn't take long before he started trying to make things happen without touching them, telekinesis, he thought it was called. He had to escape. He just didn't see how. Probably safe while Mark was in charge, but there were people who could tell Mark what to do. There was no feeling of security, although Mark came to see him quite often now.

He was welcomed back to the staff dining room with a cheer, which took him so much by surprise, that he started trembling and turned bright red. And yet, he knew that these same men who laughed with him and clapped his shoulder, would probably shoot him if they were ordered, as Alec had. Soldiers always did what they were told. He would have to ensure that if he was shot, it would be by a member of Force B. But he didn't want to be shot. He wanted to go home.

***chapter end***


	13. Chapter 13

_Part 2/__Chapter 6: _

The twin fences of the boundary fence were complete, the electrified fence was switched on, and B Force patrolled. Their barracks, and all the other facilities needed for their men were in a new area, surrounded by a high fence, outside the Compound, but within the external boundary fences. They had no contact with the subject, and only limited contact with A Force.

On the fourth of January, John was released as usual, eight in the morning, and greeted by Zack and Bob, who were smiling. Outside were three horses. Two were tall, speedy looking horses, being ridden by soldiers whom he scarcely knew. Mark himself held the third horse, much smaller, dun coloured, with creamy mane and tail. She looked placid, and a touch rotund. John gave Mark a smile of uttermost delight, and went straight to the pony, caressing, and murmuring to the small mare, and then, quite suddenly, hugging her neck, burying his face in her mane, wishing he was alone. He wanted to cry.

Mark glanced at Zack, and spoke in a dry and matter-of-fact tone. "Her name's Bess, and if you'll just look up a moment, I'll introduce your escorts." Ernest and Adam pretended not to see the wet eyes, and only explained that he could ride within the Compound with just their escort, but if he wanted to go outside the Compound, he'd be on a lead.

John looked at Mark, scarcely able to believe it. "I can go outside?"

Mark nodded. Zack took over and told him about B Force, and the external fences. John listened attentively, and only asked how close he was allowed to go before they would shoot.

"If you start to climb the fence, they will shoot. As long as you have your feet on the ground, or you're riding your horse, you're safe. But the men of B Force are not allowed to talk to you, and they do know exactly what you look like. Don't think of being stupid."

John looked into the distance a moment, that direction that for some reason, pulled him, but then said that he'd try not to be stupid.

Zack and Bob watched him ride off a few minutes later, smiling all over his face, though with long stirrups and a sloppy seat. Bob commented that he'd obviously not ridden much, but had to take back his words when they saw him flashing past at a speed that they wouldn't have thought Bess could go. The other horses were side by side, a little behind. Adam and Ernest were expert riders, and were armed the same way as they were.

John had to wait before he was allowed outside the Compound, as several men in light jeeps were sent out. "They're sharpshooters, and have high powered rifles," said one of the gate keepers.

"Why, are there tigers out there or something?" asked John, teasingly. He was in a very good mood.

Staid Bess pranced and tossed her head. She'd never had a rider that spoke to her quite like this before. It made her feel youthful and full of zest.

There was some rearranging. John was deprived of his reins, and long reins were attached instead, one taken by Ernest and one by Adam. "Which direction?" asked Adam.

John looked around, as best he could, and finally said that they could decide. There was a brief consultation, and John was led out the gates that had confined him so long. He looked back, remembering that it was at that gate he'd been hit with a stun gun. He laughed exultantly, almost forgetting that he was a prisoner.

Every day, then, straight after his release in the morning, he rode out, only missing a few times when his escorts were not available. It was a pleasure to him, though sometimes he would have liked a horse with more speed and endurance. Bess couldn't go as far and fast as he wanted. He came to be familiar with the larger area of the army land, and rode portions of the fence, watched curiously by unfamiliar soldiers, who held their rifles, not quite at the ready.

"They look as if they'd really _like_ a chance to shoot me," he said to his escorts, once.

Ernest shrugged. "They're probably bored. Guard duty is always boring."

They'd begun to relax now that the Martian had proven to be just a man after all. But now John started quizzing them. He wanted to know exactly what the soldiers were told about him. "They don't _really _think I'm a Martian, do they?" he asked.

The pair were uncomfortable with his questions, and John glanced at them, and asked if once he was back in the Compound, he could borrow one of their horses for a little while. He was refused, and Bess wasn't interested in bucking and playing with him as he'd like her to do. She was a dear friend, though, and he loved her.

Mark watched and was pleased. John seemed contented, and seemed not to be worrying about the future. Mark worried about the future for him.

But John was not contented, and still racked his brains for a way to escape, though he'd almost stopped trying to make things move just by thinking about it. That piece of film had to have been an April Fool's Day Joke. Even when he skipped his shave, and attempted it later, in his tree, he failed. It was risky, as he suspected that his gaolers were still alert for that particular action, but he couldn't do it in any case. To avoid suspicion, he didn't shave again until the following morning, as if he'd only been a bit lazy that day. They may not have noticed, of course, just one day's beard growth.

John went down to the head pain again. He felt a touch indignant when he thought about it afterward, as he hadn't even been trying to make things happen. It was a short episode, and may not have been noticed until afterwards, as they usually only viewed the bedroom film hours after it was taken. But someone happened to accidentally glance at the screen, and saw him lying unmoving on the floor.

When Isaac entered his room, he was already in the deep faint that almost invariably followed an attack of head pain. He took the opportunity to give him a REF injection. It was a lot easier giving him an injection while unconscious.

More facilities were provided for the soldiers. Now there were two hot spas side by side, as well as a sauna. Close to the gymnasium, a physiotherapist took up residence. She was a qualified physiotherapist, specialising in sports injuries, but she was also an excellent masseuse. Clare had a small, external office where a list was left, and members of staff could write down their own names in their chosen appointment slot. When not occupied, she often sat reading in this area, or joined the staff as they swam or exercised. Then she had her clinic area, and leading from that, her sleeping quarters, though she often went to her own home at night.

John didn't seem able to keep his eyes off her - and didn't go near her. She waited. Clare was not a soldier, and the John Doe was her job. She didn't think it would be difficult, not after she was shown film of him laughing for joy as Bess reared and pranced for him. She'd seen film of him in the shower, too. He was not only to be made more content, it was long known that secrets were divulged in bed. But John only looked at her with an overwhelming yearning, and stayed away.

Isaac urged him to go to Clare, as a massage was so relaxing. John looked at Isaac with a troubled expression, and stayed away. They knew he was sexually frustrated. He had no privacy, and there were obvious indications. But he liked the spa, and one day, Clare joined him. A meaningful jerk of Zack's head ensured that a soldier decided he needed a sauna rather than a spa right now.

Clare spoke softly, gently, frankly. He looked up briefly, hopefully, and then said bitterly that he was watched every minute of the day. How could he?

Clare smiled. "Is that all? My room is private. I'll give you a massage, I'm free right now, and then, if you want to..."

John looked at her, and his reply was so fervent that she laughed. The massage didn't last long. John held her close afterward, and said, almost crying, that he didn't think he knew of anything else that could possibly feel so good. It was not until the second time that he noticed an unfamiliar action he'd taken - the tiniest surge of the mind that vanished semen. It seemed something that was part of sex, but when he thought about it, it was not a part of sex.

Not long later, he nearly fell out of his tree with surprise as a twig vanished from the palm of his hand. He made it come back again, actually an identical twig conjured, though he didn't know that, and then he vanished it again, repeating the actions until he noticed Rudy's exasperated shouts from far below. He was to come down. It would soon be dark. Rudy was relieved when he finally seemed to hear him. He was beginning to think he'd have to come up after him.

He was a joy to be with that week, laughing, joking, acting as if he was having the time of his life. Every day, he had an appointment with Clare, though she discovered no secrets except that he was a very good lover. Men were all different, and she never gave a thought to an apparently scanty ejaculation.

The rest of the day, he worked his magic, learning to move things, vanishing and re-conjuring things, still only small and inconspicuous things. The day that he idly played with the wire fence as he talked to Rizo with his handler Marty, and made it vanish and reappear under his fingers, he knew that now he had a real chance to escape.

He resumed watching Davies as he trained. He was doing some interesting things with the men, and sometimes he participated, not worrying that his participation was probably planned as just another way of discovering his capabilities. They were disappointed one day, though. It was to be a sort of verbal IQ test, and John showed interest in participating, but just before a start was made, he looked straight at the camera that observed, and said casually that, after all, he didn't feel like playing soldiers that day.

Isaac, watching the action on screen, laughed, although he was disappointed. Bloody man, but even that action revealed how much he knew of the position of the cameras, and how much he guessed of their motives.

They tried him with foreign languages one day, but it was not a very subtle test, and he chose not to reveal that he spoke almost every language they tried. He told Clare, later, that he reckoned he was English, and when she asked why, he said it was because every now and then, he found himself thinking about _Bloody Yanks!_

His own conclusion agreed with theirs. His accent was English, although an expert on accents was unable to narrow it down further.

He was nearly always lured into the action events that Davies came up with, especially if there was competition. The teams never knew whether he was an asset or not. He was quick and agile, and apparently fearless, but sometimes there were delays as he felt blindly around for the rope, for instance, or fell straight into the ditch he was supposed to jump over.

One day, he took his turn climbing to the top of the tall tower, and then tilted his head slightly as he groped for the rope that he knew was there. But when he found it, he whooped with joy as he soared through the air. Davies roared at the reluctant ones who followed, that John could do it, even half blind, so certainly they could do it, too.

John was back in line waiting for his second go, when he took a few uncertain steps out of line, and said softly, "Rudy?" The next moment, he was on the ground, rolling and whimpering, fists pressed to his forehead. He stopped moving fairly quickly, his eyes open, agonised, his palms pressed flat on the grass, as if for strength.

The last time he'd gone down, the pain had only lasted a short time, and that had been the only episode in months. Isaac, when he came, said they'd wait and see, not move him. The men were sent away. This time, the agony went on and on.

After two hours, he was getting too cold, and Isaac decided they had to take him inside. Disturbing him as little as possible, he was gently lifted onto a stretcher, and although he seemed to lose consciousness at the movement, he didn't fit. The faint lasted until he was in his bed in Ward 3. Isaac had learned from previous experience with him. There was no painkiller, no touching, the room was kept very quiet, and the light was dimmed. John endured, although knowing less and less of anything but the pain as time went on.

It lasted a little over thirteen hours, then his body finally relaxed as he sunk into a state of deep unconsciousness. The EEG sensors were finally attached, and Isaac looked worriedly at the characteristic coma pattern, but after a while, the waves changed to one indicating a more normal sleep. Isaac thought he could relax now, and went to bed, leaving him in the care of the nurses.

John wanted a shower the moment he woke, though slapping a face-washer rudely at an observer who seemed too curious. The see-through wall even formed one side of his shower. The observer recoiled, but only a few minutes later was calling urgently that Isaac needed to be fetched, as John went down again.

Isaac had him put straight back into bed, and attached the electrodes for the EEG again, but the disturbance caused fitting, which gave way to more pain which just seemed to go on and on.

John's eyes looked at Isaac without recognition, no longer knowing anything except the agony that was his world. Day and night merged, the terrible pain alternating with periods of unconsciousness, though there was little fitting this time, only occasionally in response to interference or noise, such as when the bent IV stand fell to the floor. Isaac knew he was in a very bad way when he didn't notice that he was now on an intravenous drip. He didn't use restraints. Having him panicking and fighting now could be the last straw, and Isaac cared for his patient.

The times when John was awake and free of pain, he always wanted a shower. He sweated so much when he was in pain, but Isaac always refused, and his refusal was justified, as again and again the pain hit, usually only minutes after he woke from sleep.

Twenty-five days it lasted, but stopped as suddenly as it started. John was very thin, very pale, and weak as a kitten. But when Isaac asked what he wanted, he grinned and said that he thought it was definitely time that he saw Clare, who would undoubtedly know just what he needed. Isaac said that if he couldn't walk that far, he certainly couldn't do anything else. John's eyes twinkled, and he said that he could definitely do something else. The report came back later. It seemed that he could. Clare thought that her room was private, though John wasn't so sure, and always insisted that it be darkened as much as possible, and showed a liking for being under the covers.

Davies was very happy to see him, though for the first time in a while, it seemed that John remembered that he liked to be a pest, mocking and interfering when he drilled the men. Davies cursed him, and stalked over to him, but John looked at him with bright, merry eyes, from a thin, pale face, and Davies noticed that he held a cane again. The blast of fury was muted.

John resumed his rides very quickly, though only walking around the Compound on Bess to begin with, Adam and Ernest acting as personal guards. He could go further when he rode Bess, than he could walk, in his current weakness, and he spent a lot of time walking her around the perimeter fence, sometimes turning her so that she looked straight at the fence, as he peered, head tilted slightly to the side. For some reason, he was able to see better when he was on a horse, and there were a few days that he spent watching the gates, the guards very alert. But all he did was watch.

Once he seemed a bit stronger, Adam and Ernest brought a different horse for him, a taller, faster horse. And he whooped in joy as the three galloped together, thundering around the external perimeter track. Except for that ill-considered flight triggered by holding a baby, he hadn't attempted escape, but Mark was alert to any behaviour that indicated that he might. Two or three times a week, he would join him in the staff dining room, though he knew that the lower ranking soldiers didn't appreciate it. John just greeted him as 'Mark,' and spoke to him as easily as he did everyone else.

John was making plans, and was becoming fit again. He thought he could probably drive a car, it couldn't be that difficult, and he'd have to get as far away as he could, as quickly as he could. But he didn't try to work his telekinesis, not until he was over the latest illness.

***chapter end***


	14. Chapter 14

_Part 2/__Chapter 7: _

Spring, and the trees were showing beginning buds of leaves. John was still not fully recovered from the weeks of illness, but the constant rain would be a help. In spite of the lights, visibility would be poor outside at night. It was a gamble, as he hadn't practised that unknown power since he'd been sick, and he was planning to try things he'd never done.

He had no dull coloured shirt, and there had been no chance to steal one, so he went bare-chested. The cameras stopped working for a little while, a pillow pretended to be a body in his bed, his locked door was unlocked, and Peter and Nicholas somehow didn't see him go. Two more locked doors were unlocked, and he slipped through. More guards were evaded, and he rolled in the muddiest puddle that he knew. His horse had churned it up for him the previous day, pawing at the dirt while he laughed and pretended to Ernest and Adam that it was misbehaving. He was nearly black now, face, body and jeans. He wore no shoes.

He gave himself less than a fifty percent chance of success, so at least one fence had to be climbed, or they'd know for sure he'd done something inexplicable. He had to show that he'd crossed the barbed wire, though he didn't know how they'd explain that he crossed the two electrified fences. He planned to make them rise up, so that he could wriggle underneath and not be touched.

A flicker of movement caught the eye of a guard as he made a routine scan of the screens in the large surveillance room. It was a long way from the Compound, closer to the external fences. He thought it must be a fox, slipping silently through the heavy mist. He called the attention of his fellow to it. Frowning, they watched. For a moment they saw it a touch clearer. The brief glimpse didn't look quite like a fox.

Just as a precautionary measure, the watcher checked John's room. The half light showed a figure in the bed. "He's there," he said to the other.

For a long moment, the two peered at the silent room. Then a switch was flicked, and suddenly there was a bright light in John's room. There was no movement from the body in the bed, that didn't look quite right. Zoster communicators vibrated, phones rang, more guards were alerted, but it was only when John was definitely discovered to be gone from his room, that Force B was alerted.

John, crouching and hurrying, was praying for the heavy mist to continue. The bright lights that generously lit even this area, were dissipated in the moisture laden air.

Sirens rang, and the headlights of jeeps swung, dipped and dived as they crossed the rough open area where he was caught. He ran, trying to get closer to the fence, filled with urgency to escape, though he really knew there was no hope as soon as the alarm went. Searchlights started wandering. He was closer to the external fence than he'd thought. He dropped, and only wriggled along the ground, still hoping. Maybe he could hitch a ride once he was out. Maybe he could clean himself with magic so that he looked more innocent. Maybe he could still escape.

A jeep roared past a foot from his head, and then turned and backed around, between himself and the fence, the headlights shining back at him. He wished he would not be seen, and added that surge of power. He was not seen by those on the spot, but reports were coming in from those who watched from the cameras.

After a moment, the jeep turned slightly, and the lights were no longer on him. He started wriggling again, still headed toward the fence.

More jeeps appeared, the beams of headlights lighting the area, supplementing the lights from the poles that also carried cameras. But it was only when night binoculars were used that John was picked up, almost under the feet of Zack. He knew he was seen. Slowly, he rose to his feet, black with mud. For a moment he glanced at the fences, so close.

Triumphantly, a Force B soldier approached, carrying handcuffs. "You've got him then," and he added with a sneer, "Pretty careless, letting him get this far."

Zack saw John's eyes on the handcuffs. He was looking very tense, but Zack was furious with him, and was tempted to let the sergeant put on the restraints. But John looked at him, and said very softly, "Zack?" and he said instead that handcuffs were not needed, that John would give no trouble now. John relaxed. The disappointment was extreme, but now that he'd found his power, there'd be other opportunities.

"In the jeep," Zack said curtly.

John looked at himself. "I'll make it awfully dirty."

Zack stared, then laughed. "You nearly get yourself killed, and you're worried about getting the jeep dirty?"

John got in the jeep. They took him to Ward 3, as he expected. There never had been a Ward 1 or a Ward 2, though there was a Sick Bay, occasionally used by staff.

They wouldn't let him shower or put on dry clothing, only taking from him the small package of food bars that was attached to his belt. Colonel Bedville was well aware of the value of some fatigue and discomfort when a man was interrogated. Nicholas, Peter and Raymond surrounded him, the night guards he scarcely knew. Two others had been brought in as well. He'd never even seen Josephs and Cunningham. Peter and Nicholas were feeling vindictive. Somehow he'd got past them, although they'd been on station right outside his door. They couldn't understand it and they didn't like it.

John was made to stand, shivering and just waiting, as Mark, Isaac and Zack watched film in the observation room next door. The technicians were checking through all film from the last three hours, finding the traces of his passage. He was seen in the corridors, once slipping behind a guard who should certainly have seen him. There was quite a good shot of him rolling in the muddy puddle, but then he wasn't spotted until a glimpse was seen of him crossing the barbed wire of the first fence.

Isaac looked at the bedraggled figure in the next room, and said that there must be some deep cuts under the mud. Mark said briefly that no doubt he'd recover.

Again and again, the footage from the cameras in his room were run. The technician concluded, "The cameras in his room stopped working, I think, all of them, probably for about fifteen minutes."

Mark looked at their subject. He wasn't doing anything. Five guards surrounded him, and both Nicholas and Peter had their stun guns out in a tacit threat. John leaned against the wall, muddy hands in muddy pockets, and stared into the distance, his face impassive.

Mark finally went in and started questioning. John was trembling, although whether it was from fear or cold, they didn't know. Colonel Bedville didn't find it too difficult to harden his heart. The man had nearly escaped, and he surely must have used that strange power.

John, as the Colonel had expected, was not cooperative, only saying that he'd found the door open, and thought it worthwhile having a go. He was silent as he was asked how he'd passed the guards without being seen, how he'd negotiated the electrified fence without being killed, how he'd gone through at least three locked doors.

After a half hour, the Colonel stopped. John asked if he could have a shower now. Colonel Bedville said coldly that his guards would tell him when he was allowed to have a shower. John looked after him as he left, and his eyes followed him also as he entered the room next door. Isaac was there, too, he could feel him. John fidgeted. There was a deep cut on his upper arm, that was paining with the mud in it. There were other cuts. Nicholas snarled at him, "Stay still or I'll use the stun gun." He stayed still.

Isaac objected. He wanted to look after his patient, but Colonel Bedville was in charge, and the Colonel was deeply disturbed. Losing the subject would cost him dear. Within himself, Mark felt aggrieved. John had been treated so well. It seemed ungrateful.

Two interrogators were brought in from B Force. For hours, they hammered at John, who stayed still, stayed silent, and endured. They were not allowed to touch him, Mark had made that quite clear. And each of the guards, individually, was told that they were to use the batons, if necessary, rather than the stun guns. Mark didn't want his subject nearly killed by a zap from a stun gun.

Mark watched from the observation room, getting tired as the morning wore on. The interrogators were taking it in turns, as they, too, tired.

John was silent. He was wondering when the expected head pain would strike. Maybe it would take a few days. Maybe even it would not strike. He smiled bleakly at that thought. He always had to pay when he used that mysterious power.

Nicholas saw the smile, and his anger rose in him again. Nicholas thought it a very good idea if he was knocked about a bit, teach him a lesson.

John's eyes touched him briefly, but he only thought that there was nothing that the guards were likely to do to him that would hurt nearly as much as his head periodically hurt.

Mark and Isaac were speaking in Mark's office. But even here, they could simply turn on a screen, and watch what was happening in Ward 3. The picture was large, clear, and in colour. The guards in John's room had been changed, and he was now surrounded by his more familiar day guards, Zack, Rudy, Bob, Lance. He was trembling again, and very pale now. He was on the verge of collapse.

Isaac said to Mark, "Enough?"

Mark nodded, and said, "We'll have to do it now."

"Next time he goes down? It'll make it a lot easier."

Mark said heavily, "Next time he goes down." He paused, "If there's a suitable cut on either of his legs, that, too."

Isaac pleaded, "Mark, I can't."

The Colonel looked very tired. "It may not be on film, or witnessed, but I'm satisfied that he has a power and is learning to use it. Slowing him down is better than killing him. You just hand the dressing and the ointment to the nurse, and the nurse will use it as normal."

Isaac said sadly, "The other thing won't hurt him, but crippling him will hurt him."

Mark was looking again at the image of the mud stained figure leaning against the wall. "I know." He added, "I won't punish him, and those two procedures are not for punishment. But he stays in Ward 3 while you treat him, and he'll be under constant surveillance in his room from now on."

Mark felt it his duty to watch as his instructions were carried out. John was swaying, white with fatigue, when he was finally allowed to shower, helped by Joe Price, one of the nurses. It was mid afternoon. His wounds were checked, Isaac pointed to one on his leg with a glance at Price, and then told John that the one on his arm would need to be stitched, as it would scar too badly otherwise.

His patient smiled tiredly, and said that he had enough scars to be going on with, stitch it if he wanted. Isaac said, "It'll hurt, and I suppose you'll refuse an injection."

John nodded. "No injections." But he seemed almost asleep when the nurse dressed his wounds, including the one on his leg, and Isaac put a couple of neat stitches in the deep cut on his arm.

It was not until the early hours of the morning that he woke, ravenously hungry. Two guards and a nurse were in the room. The nurse was a woman, and he smiled at her as he swung himself out of bed, pleased. He liked women a lot better than he liked men, he thought. Not that he knew many. Clare was almost the only one, but he certainly liked Clare. He hoped he'd still be allowed to see her. No doubt there'd be punishment, and he sighed. His next attempt would be in the daytime, as he doubted he'd succeed in leaving his room at night again.

Nicki introduced herself, and asked how he was feeling.

"Just hungry," he answered.

She briefly checked pulse and temperature, and then said, "You can go back to your room if you like, and a meal will be brought to you there."

John was delighted. "I can?"

Nicki smiled at him. Peter put in, using an ominous voice, "You'll be told what's to happen to you in the morning." He didn't want him thinking he'd got away with it.

But John only nodded and looked for some clothes. There were some kept here, as well as in his bedroom, blue jeans, and a vivid red shirt. They'd standardised the colour now, though John said that he'd really prefer a variety, maybe even some brown or green shirts.

He limped slightly when he left his bedroom in the morning. The ointment rubbed into a cut irritated him, but Nicki only said that the dressings were to stay in place, and he'd be checked every morning before he left his room. John smiled his thanks. Life was easier when he was friendly with those who surrounded him, even if they sometimes were in conflict. He was astounded when Zack told him that there were no changes in the way he was to be treated, except that he wouldn't be riding that day.

Davies welcomed him when he turned up at PT training. They'd taken their cue from him. They might come into conflict, but it was best to pretend, afterward, that nothing had happened. It was difficult sometimes. They'd all been out searching the night before last, and some had witnessed an argument between the commander of B Force and the Colonel. They had a very good idea where the subject was, and Hindmarsh had wanted to simply plaster the whole area with bullets. Luckily, Bedville outranked him.

The rain finally stopped, and the sun shone, although the soldiers still squelched through puddles in their boots. Only PT that day, and John wandered off, his escort following, Zack next to him, Bob and Lance not far away. He swung himself up into his tree, thinking it wouldn't be long now before the trees would be in full leaf, probably only two or three weeks. He needed the cover before he made the next planned attempt. Next to his habitual perch was a pair of birds busily building their nest, not disturbed in the slightest by the human who smiled on them.

Life went on, and John was still a prisoner. At meal times, the soldiers were easy with him, and when he claimed he undoubtedly had better quarters than any of them, he was rewarded with quite a good description of the army barracks he planned to raid. The only change was that he was continually watched when in his rooms, and he now knew exactly where each of the cameras were, though he tried not to show that he knew. He now knew, too, where the camera in Clare's bedroom was, but didn't dream of giving up his visits now. He knew she reported on him, and tried to ensure she'd have enough to report that she was thought valuable. He needed her. She never learned anything he wanted to keep quiet, though.

Nicki checked on him every morning before he was released from his room. The dressings were removed from most of his wounds, though she said that Isaac's orders were that the one on his leg was to stay untouched. John shrugged and did as he was told, though it was a nuisance when he couldn't go swimming or use the spa.

Isaac waited, wondering why it was taking so long. He would have expected a raging infection by day three. Instead, John stopped limping, and said that he thought it was cured. After a week, Isaac had Nicki take off the bandage and dressing, and report. Nicki didn't know that the wound had been deliberately infected with some very nasty bacteria. She only said that it was completely healed, and threw away the dressing that seemed a lot cleaner than expected.

Isaac reported to Mark. Mark smiled and said, "To tell you the truth, I'm relieved. In all my career, it's the worst thing that duty has called for."

"We're not going to try again then?" said Isaac.

Mark shook his head. "I haven't been sleeping too well."

Isaac nodded, "Me, neither." And after a minute, he said, "It's an indication of another difference, though, you realise. The leg should have been gangrenous by now. He must be very resistant."

Mark said thoughtfully, "I wonder if he'll get the flu that's going around."

Isaac shrugged. "Flu's not like gangrene, we could make sure he's exposed, and see what happens."

***chapter end***


	15. Chapter 15

_Part 2/__Chapter 8_:

General Buller and Colonel Forster made a visit for a few days. John was moved back to Ward 3, they said that some modifications were needed in his own room. John wondered why they bothered with excuses. He was a prisoner, and could do with him pretty much what they wanted.

The first morning in Room 3, John was showering. He frowned. He was sure that it was Forster watching closely, but maybe it would be more prudent not to show that he knew. He turned the shower on as hot as he could stand instead, hoping that the window would fog up sufficiently that he was invisible. He twisted a towel around his waist, as soon as he was dry, though he seldom bothered normally. There was an uncomfortable sexual element in that inspection of his body.

In the observation room, Forster was casually saying to Isaac that the subject seemed quite healthy now. Isaac wished he could think of a way to stop him licking his lips over John's body. It hadn't occurred to him before, but now that he was fit and healthy, John had a body that might tempt a man that way inclined. At least John was safe enough from any real molestation, as there was not a moment of the day that cameras were not on him. They could be a protection, as well as an intrusion.

The general with his off-sider, Forster, watched a lot of film of John that day and the following. Buller was amused when Forster took certain film to his room; he knew the weaknesses of his subordinate. In the file were some photographs of John as he'd been found. Forster looked at those a long time. Buller wasn't sure if anyone had told John that he'd once been raped. There was no real purpose in telling him.

The second morning in Ward 3, John switched on the hot tap in the shower and ran it for a while before he even stripped. And again, afterward, he put a towel around his waist. It was just a visit, he'd been told, and there was no hint that Forster might again be put in charge of him. He wasn't happy, but didn't feel the fear that had gripped him the previous time Forster was around.

He was released at the same time as usual. A lot of the soldiers were off with the flu, but Ernest and Adam were all right, and John enjoyed a gallop on the track they'd started to wear next to the external fence, the three big horses thundering around together. The B Force guards watched him, the man in the bright red shirt looking happy as he rode, even though on lead. The leather thong that usually held his hair in a pony tail had broken that day, and his long hair streamed out behind him.

"Martian or just a hippy?" one said.

"He's actually from Alpha Centauri," said the other, in a voice of authority.

Zack met him when he returned, saying that Davies thought he'd enjoy the planned activity for the day. John knew that probably meant that the activity was planned with the participation of Isaac, who thought it a good way of doing his research on the lab rat. But the things that Davies devised were often fun, and he walked with anticipation.

The obstacle race was to be run in teams, and was carefully planned. Isaac had formed the hypothesis that John was using his telepathic talent to know where things were. At each place where he was expected to have difficulty seeing, there were to be stationed two men, primed to think hard of the rope or the beam in a different spot than it actually was. The technicians had been hard at work rigging extra cameras. No move would be missed. There were to be prizes for each on the winning team and Davies held up a box of chocolates and a green T-shirt, hopefully an additional temptation for John.

John glanced up at the camera that watched as Davies asked if he wanted to take part. Mark was anxious, far more than he should have been. John frowned. Mark crossed his fingers. John turned to Davies, who was also holding his breath, "Of course I want to participate. It looks enormous fun." Mark gave a quiet sigh of relief.

Isaac watched closely, as did Mark, General Buller, and Colonel Forster. John hesitated longer than usual at the first of the difficult places, but then grabbed the rope and was off. The misdirection had no apparent effect thereafter.

His was not the winning team, and he asked Zack, grinning, how long he'd have been allowed to keep that shirt in any case.

Zack grinned back. "I'd have let you keep it for the day."

Mark was pleased, and wondered again how much his subject knew of what was supposed to be hidden from him. The general was impressed, but said that the interrogation would proceed as planned. Mark objected again, but Buller was adamant. The escape had been too nearly successful, and while the planned measure to be taken, was approved, he said that it was essential that they know how John had managed it.

The senior officers were served with a very good lunch, during which Bedville spoke persuasively of the benefits of allowing the subject a large degree of freedom in order to learn as much about him as possible. Buller listened, and observed that the morning's demonstration had been impressive.

Forster spoke equally persuasively of the benefits of a closer confinement coupled with rigorous discipline. Buller looked at him with amusement. "Didn't work too well, last time, did it?"

Forster flushed. Two weeks in hospital, and several more having his meals through a straw.

Mark said, "Since adopting this policy, I have not had a single man hurt, and I suspect the subject could be very dangerous if he chooses."

Isaac went on to talk about examples of apparent telepathy.

"What about the woman?" asked Buller.

Mark said, "Nothing of a great deal of significance. He says he's a hollow man, and she's convinced the amnesia is genuine, but we never really doubted that."

"Fancy providing a prisoner with a whore," said Forster, in disgust.

Buller said reprovingly that Miss Glover was a highly skilled agent, and John Doe was, by no means, an ordinary prisoner. "We need to know what it is that he can do," he said, "And while Mark's results might be slow in coming, they are coming." But then he nodded at Forster. "You can have a go at him this afternoon, however, and we'll see how you do."

Lunchtime, John was chatting with Jimmy and Brian, as Zack and Bob watched from their position near the door. Zack took a message, and murmured to Bob. Bob looked worried. Shortly afterward, Lance and Nicholas filed into position next to them.

John was trying to persuade Sylvia to let him have a second dessert. "You're not sick any more, John," she said, "You don't need it."

John turned beseeching eyes on her. "Yes, but I might get sick at any moment, and then if I'm fat beforehand, I won't get so thin!"

Sylvia laughed at the argument, and handed him a second dessert.

Jimmy looked at his second dessert when he rejoined them. "They won't let_ us _have any more than the allotted meal!"

John twinkled at him. "I'm privileged."

They let him finish his meal, and even have coffee before coming for him. And when Jimmy saw his face become expressionless, and the four unsmiling men who walked close, he thought him not so privileged. He and Brian glanced at each other, and were very quiet as they walked back to their position on guard at the main gates.

John had only once been in the Administration Block. This time he was led to a large room, bare except for one solidly made chair. On two sides were large windows he couldn't see through, but he knew that men watched from behind. He started to tremble. No matter how he tried, he could never control his trembling. His face showed no expression.

More men waited, five of them. He felt them, and knew he'd never met them. The ones he knew, left the room. He stared after them, feeling momentarily deserted, before reminding himself that it made no difference really. Zack and the others - they too, were his gaolers.

"Sit in the chair," a man told him. He wore glasses, this man, and looked more like a clerk than a soldier, but John only saw his appearance when someone behind him turned his eyes on him. He hesitated. He didn't want to sit in the chair while those threatening men stood around him.

Two men close to him pulled out their batons, and ran them through their fingers. The gesture was wasted on John, who didn't see. But he felt the threat nevertheless. "Sit in the chair," was repeated, with more emphasis.

John sat. Now that he looked more harmless, Colonel Forster entered the room. "These are men from B Force," he said. "Sergeant Nicholls is going to ask you about the night you nearly escaped. If you do not cooperate with proper answers, you will be handcuffed to the chair in which you sit, until we do get answers."

John's trembling, oddly, ceased, and he looked apparently calmly at Forster, but his voice had a tremor. "I panic when I am tied. I cannot help it. If I panic, then someone could be hurt."

Forster smiled at the man he knew could barely see. "We'll risk it." He turned and left the room.

Isaac wasn't present, though he had a good idea what was planned. He didn't want to see John hurt, even though Buller agreed that there would be no physical hurt. He used the excuse that he had the flu, very much hoping that John would not need him afterwards. A replacement was doing the daily soldiers' clinic, but he didn't want anyone else looking after John.

Mark had no choice whether or not he should watch. Forster watched avidly through the window. He was loving this. He'd watched old film of John panicking and begging for release when restrained, and knew that the fear of being tied up would soon have him begging.

Nicholls began the questioning. "How did you make the cameras stop working?"

When John only looked stony in response to his questions, he nodded at Lockyer, who grabbed John's right wrist and handcuffed it to the chair, with the help of another. Young, on the other side, failed to restrain the twisting figure in the chair, and was hit instead.

John was tied to a chair, the panic was in him, and he started fighting. His left fist was brought into play first, but then he discovered that the chair could be lifted and swung with the right arm. It made a fearsome weapon, and his speed and fury were awesome. Only Nicholls escaped from the room, four others were fallen. One tried to rise, and the chair crashed down on him again. Buller was stunned at the swift defeat of five soldiers.

Bedville smiled slightly. "Release him?" he asked Buller.

Buller inclined his head in defeat, "Release him."

John was still struggling against the restraint, hurling the chair at the window now, as if that might free him. His wrist streamed with blood. He was not seeing, not sensible, though he ignored the fallen men as long as they remained motionless. Zack was brought in to the observation room, staring awe-struck through the window at the man he'd been in charge of for so many months. "He's gone mad!" he said, quietly.

Mark shook his head. "I don't think so, and you're his friend. Come straight back out if he threatens you, but try and persuade him to let you take the handcuffs off." He flinched as the chair crashed into the window again.

Zack edged quietly into the room, trying to talk to John. John crashed the chair at him, but it went to the side. Again, this time to the other side. Zack went on talking, watching him closely. He tripped over one of the fallen men, unable to dodge, and the chair came crashing down - on the floor next to him. John was breathing fast, still in a panic. Zack slipped out the door. "Try Clare?" he suggested.

Back in the interrogation room, Lockyer suddenly tried to reach the door. Unerringly, the chair came crashing down on his back. John was still a moment, fighting to remove the handcuffs, continually jerking his wrist against the chair, held in his other hand. But his relative self-control seemed to desert him again, and he started beating the chair against the floor, totally ignoring the injury he was causing himself. The chair was beginning to disintegrate.

Mark watched closely, flinching as the chair came crashing against the window again. A crack now ran across the toughened glass.

Clare paused, looking at her terrified lover and the bodies strewn around him. None were unconscious, each of them just lying very still, and waiting. Silently, Forster handed her a key. Clare nodded.

John was backed up against a wall, white-faced, and trembling again. Clare held up the key. "I'm going to take off the handcuffs, John, and then you can be calm again."

John stared at her, but didn't move as she slowly approached. She undid the handcuff, and he held his wrist, the blood streaming between his fingers.

"Come to me," she said, and put her arms around him.

He was still silent, trembling, but didn't resist the embrace.

When Mark entered, she calmly asked if she could take John to her room. Mark nodded. His four familiar escorts followed, and then took up station outside her room. Clare held him close and comforted him. They had hardly ever before watched in her room at the time the action happened, but now she could be in danger from the subject, and she was watched. The pair sat on the edge of the bed, until John was suddenly crying in her arms. When his sobs finally ceased, it was Nicki who came in and tended to the hurt wrist.

"I'll take you back to your room when you're ready," Clare said.

John looked at the floor, and spoke in a low voice. "They'll probably kill me now."

Clare held him close, and stroked his head. "They won't kill you. I don't think anyone's even badly hurt."

John said, "One day they'll kill me, and then I'll be just their specimen to dissect." Clare pulled him closer.

Clare took him back to his room after a while, and he squeezed her hand, thanked her in a low, shamed voice, and went inside. He was not locked in until dark, but all afternoon, he never tried his door, just sat in a chair, staring into the distance, and, more often than not, was seen to be trembling.

His evening meal was brought to him in his room. Afterward, Mark went to see him. He shook his head at Josephs as he started to follow him into his room. Mark spoke in a carefully neutral tone. "John, let's just sit a while, and talk."

John nodded. Mark noticed that again, he was trembling. John stared at the floor, and said, "I'm sorry."

Mark leaned forward, and touched his shoulder. "The men are only bruised, a couple have a few cracked ribs."

John still wouldn't look at him. "I panicked."

Mark smiled slightly. "I've never seen anyone panic in quite such a spectacular fashion."

John glanced up. He'd expected severe punishment.

Mark said, "Can I make you a coffee?"

John stood, "I'll make it," and Mark watched as he prepared two coffees, only feeling around a touch for the milk in the small fridge, scarcely bothering looking, when he couldn't see in any case. "Biscuits?"

Mark accepted a fancy chocolate biscuit. John smiled suddenly. "It's Lyn, she does the room, and keeps me supplied. I seem to be getting fancier and fancier biscuits."

Mark laughed. "So if Clare vanished, you'd have Lyn for company."

John shook his head. "Lyn's about sixty. She would like to mother me."

Mark said, "You know, if you wanted to keep me in charge of you, you couldn't have done better. You cooperated beautifully this morning, when my philosophy was followed. But the General insisted that Forster try his methods. You made a fiasco of his interrogation. Mine may not have been any more effective, but at least no-one was hurt."

John was beginning to relax. "Was it your idea, offering a prize of a green shirt?"

Mark smiled. "Did you see through that?"

John touched the red shirt he wore. "I love this colour, but green would be nice for a change."

Mark thought that he was doing well. John was a lot more relaxed. It had hurt Mark, a little, when he'd seen him tell Clare that one day he'd be just their specimen to dissect. Is that what he really thought? He spoke seriously. "John, as long as you behave reasonably, you have nothing to fear from us. I know you think we're your gaolers, and so we are. But we are not inhumane. You will not have to suffer cruel treatment as long as I'm in charge, and I do not expect anyone else to be put in charge after today."

John's eyes were on Mark, and Mark wondered if he was feeling for the sincerity behind his words. He added, "Even today. I admit you were treated cruelly, but I don't think General Buller understood your terror of being tied up. You were never in danger of being beaten, or otherwise seriously mistreated." He rose. "You will not be punished. You can't ride tomorrow, but it's only because both Adam and Ernest are down with flu."

John rose, and said, "Mark, thank you."

Mark smiled. "I'll just have another of those biscuits. They don't give _me _biscuits like that."

John told himself firmly the following morning that there was no point being embarrassed at his ridiculous behaviour, he couldn't hide, and he couldn't run. So he put a brave face on things, apologised to Zack, thankful that the chair hadn't hit him, and when the time came, strolled over to where Sergeant Davies roared at the men to get ready, as they were doing thirty miles today, bruises or not.

He watched for a while, waving in answer to the called greetings. "They've been fighting," he remarked to Zack.

Zack grinned. He'd been fighting, too, though the bruises didn't show. A major brawl between A Force and B Force. A few were still in the lockup. A few were out of action entirely. 'The Martian' had been hurt by B Force. B Force said that four of their number had been injured by the Martian. A Force reckoned that John was theirs, and B Force declared that they had every intention of shooting him the moment they had an excuse. Zack didn't explain, only saying that soldiers could be as irresponsible as anyone else when they chose.

"Can I come?" John called to Davies, as they prepared to depart.

"Don't be silly!" said Davies, as he always did.

"I could hardly escape from the middle of forty or so soldiers," said John to Zack.

But Zack just shrugged. He didn't know what John could do, and thought that it would be very foolish indeed for him to be allowed outside, even with the escort of forty soldiers.

There were only Zack and Lance with him that day, as both Bob and Rudy were down with flu. The ranks among the soldiers were diminished for the same reason. John's wrist was bandaged, and when he jumped to the lowermost branch of his favourite tree, he swore and dropped back to the ground. Discontentedly, he sat at the base instead.

"Wrist sore?" Lance asked.

John nodded, and reddened. "I was incredibly stupid yesterday. It serves me right."

Zack joined them. "I heard you did warn them," he said, "They deserved a few bruises."

John cast him a scant, side-long glance. "I'm very glad I didn't hurt you."

Zack said calmly, "You weren't trying. I've seen the film. You quite deliberately missed me."

John was surprised, "Did I?"

Zack nodded. John's blush deepened. "I hope I did. I wasn't thinking straight."

"Going to see Clare later?"

John nodded. "You can't not see people just because you've made a fool of yourself," and added, "Mind you, if I was a free man, I'd be in Australia by now, and never face anyone again!"

Lance laughed, and punched him lightly on his arm. "You make life interesting!"

John grinned, and looked up at his tree. The leaves would be thick enough soon.

***chapter end***


	16. Chapter 16

_Part 2/__Chapter 9:_

Isaac's voice was still a croak when he remarked to Mark that it was fairly obvious that John wasn't getting flu, in spite of the deliberate exposure. He'd tried three times.

Mark said, "You're better yourself?"

Isaac nodded, "A lot better now, just my voice."

Mark said thoughtfully that it might be worthwhile not leaving that particular report in the file, in case others in the future attempted to use him to develop antibodies or something.

Isaac looked at him in surprise, and Mark said, "Remember, he's just a young man, and I won't always be in charge of him, and neither will you."

Isaac's curiosity was apt to make him forget the consequences of his research sometimes, but Mark's measured words were enough to convince him to drop this part of his reports.

Rudy made it back to work, and Lance went down to flu. Zack was still fit, but a new guard was introduced to John. Timothy was very big and very black. John liked him immediately. He was much younger than the others, and John found him good to play with, though he couldn't lure him into the outdoor pool. "Too cold," he said, ignoring John's accusations of cowardice.

Even the heated indoor pool was not well patronised. With the flu epidemic, there were often not enough people available to have the specified number in the pool with John, in case he was struck with the head pain.

John said optimistically to Zack that it'd probably never happen again. It was nearly a month since his last escape attempt, and longer than that since that terrible time when he'd been down for so long. He wasn't trying to practise what he termed his telekinesis though, in case it made him sick. The strategy of using it only when needed had worked well last time, and he hoped it would again. It would be very soon, he thought. Just another few days and the leaves would be thick enough. The short staffing could only help. Quite a few of the soldiers were doing jobs they were not accustomed to.

Isaac, when consulted, agreed that the extra precautions were no longer needed, and John could go swimming as long as one good swimmer joined him in the pool, and there were two personal guards. There was an ulterior motive. Timothy was a champion swimmer. It was the reason he was now one of John's personal guards, as Isaac was curious to discover just how well John could swim. They knew he was fast and smooth, but Timothy was to lure him into racing.

Nearly every day, with the reduced safety requirements, John could swim, indulging in horse-play with Timothy, and sometimes playing a rather rough game of something like water polo. John was the more agile and had quicker reflexes, but he sometimes lost sight of the ball or goal posts, and Timothy's long arms gave him a big advantage. They'd become close very quickly, seeming to greatly enjoy each other's company.

Isaac had his wish, and John and Timothy were competing a couple of days later, a fifteen hundred metres race, several soldiers barracking for their chosen favourites.

John's smooth stroke suddenly broke, and he turned toward the side of the pool. _Zack?_ Zack heard the frightened voice in his mind as his charge reached up a hand for him. His friend pulled him out of the pool, and John staggered a little, looking uncertainly around. He was frightened of the pain that he knew was about to hit. It had lasted so long the last time.

"Don't worry!" said Zack, and put an arm around him. "It won't be so bad this time," as if he knew.

John looked at his face, trusting his word, though for no good reason, Zack thought, wrenched with pity. But then John jerked as if he'd been struck, and his legs no longer supported him. Zack lowered him as gently as he could and just waited until he stopped moving. He always tossed himself about to begin with, until he was able to stay still and just wait, enduring the terrible pain until it stopped.

Timothy was out of the pool by now, and others stood around, staring. Zack sent them back. The less disturbance the better, and people too close disturbed him. Zack had seen this a few times now.

Before Isaac came, he made a phone call. The specialist would be on his way within the hour. Although the placement of the location device under the muscles of John's upper arm would not be difficult, the device would provide more information than just his location, and the probes had to be very carefully placed without doing damage.

As it happened, Zack's assurance to John happened to be correct, and it was less than an hour before his body relaxed into unconsciousness. The first thing that Isaac did was to give him an injection, even before taking him to the operating theatre.

The operation didn't take long, and when the surgeon left, he was cautioned again about the need for secrecy. He was curious, but contained his curiosity, only asking to check John's legs that had been damaged by bullet wounds not so long ago. He remembered it well.

John was back in Ward 3, and was to be kept under heavy sedation until the arm wound healed. He was not to know that he now could be tracked wherever he went. He would not know, either, that Isaac had a continuing measure of blood pressure, pulse, and muscle tension. From now on, the film stored would be matched with notes and graph lines on the bottom that gave physiological information. Isaac couldn't wait to see how it worked, though Mark fretted about the ethics of it, even when he deemed it essential.

The small wound healed quickly, and just four days after the operation, Isaac removed the Intravenous Drip. He could wake up now.

Zack remembered that he should not allow his loyalties to be divided, as he'd said sternly to Timothy when a reported conversation seemed very brief. He told Isaac that John had called to him, telepathically. It was a valuable piece of information.

John was up and about quite quickly, allowed to ride on Bess, but not outside the Compound as Adam and Ernie were not yet fully fit. It was a nasty flu bug, and tended to leave people feeling lethargic for weeks.

He chose a day when Timothy and Bob were on, just two. Timothy had always been a bit careless, and Bob was suffering the after effects of flu as well, and might not be as conscientious as usual. They were accustomed to John disappearing into his tree, and thought it amusing when he took up slices of bread to feed the parent birds.

John felt very carefully for the cameras. They moved them around sometimes, though not, thankfully, this time. His red shirt was left as a decoy, and then, taking as much care as possible not to be seen, he started working his way carefully from tree to tree toward the soldiers' barracks. There were some cameras that needed to stop working, though when he tried to do that, he told them in his mind to freeze at the scene they had, and added that tiny surge of the mind that was his power. He was pretty sure he'd done it right, though it would be better, of course, if he could practise and see his results.

In an empty soldier's room, he stole a camouflage uniform, tilting his head and squinting, trying to put the scarcely visible uniform on correctly. The broken pattern was very difficult for him. He touched his hair, but was lucky to find scissors to cut it. No soldier had a long pony tail. The staff always showed ID tags when they came and went. Jimmy had shown him once, until Rudy interfered, suspicious of John's motives. John had one, stolen two days before, though he hoped Hank wouldn't get into too much trouble. But Hank was coughing and sneezing, and maybe wouldn't leave his room for a few days.

Feeling for the presence of those around him and looking as anonymous as he could, John strolled confidently and casually toward the gate. He used his power again, to wish the guard inspecting his ID not to look at him closely, that he was right to pass. The guard opened the gate for him, and he passed through. One to go, and he'd be out of the Compound. When the alarms started shrieking, he looked around casually. "A false alarm, do you think?" he asked the soldier, luckily a stranger to him.

"Probably," said the gate man, "But you'll have to wait now. No-one in or out while the alarm is on."

"Pest," said John. "I was supposed to be waiting on the road. A friend was to pick me up." He wished that the guard would decide to let him out, and again tried to add that tiny surge of the power he didn't himself understand.

The guard looked at him, undecided, even started to open the gate. But then he raised a hand, "Just a moment," and lifted his zoster to his ear.

John swore bitterly to himself, especially when he heard the guard say that there was no-one he could see close, just a single soldier waiting to leave. The guard said in a surprised voice, "Of course I won't let him go. I know the regulations."

John had failed again, but just in case, he leaned casually against the wall of the guard box and put his hands in his pockets. When a jeep came fast toward the gates, and more soldiers seemed to come running from all directions, he tried wishing that he was in Hallsville, which he knew to be the nearest town. He added the surge of power. But nothing at all happened, except that the jeep was allowed through the first gate.

Abruptly, John remembered that soldiers never casually leaned against walls, when in the presence of officers, and straightened, saluting, though it was something he hadn't thought to practice. Mark was stalking past to talk to the guard on the gate, ignoring the anonymous soldier. Abruptly he stopped, peering. "Sorry, John."

John sighed, "Yeah. Me, too."

Mark took him back in the jeep. "Back to Ward 3?" he asked Mark.

Mark nodded, "For the moment." He looked at his subject, irritably, "I can't understand how the guards didn't stop you."

John said casually, "It was not their fault, I was in disguise."

"What disguise?" said Mark, sceptically. "Wearing a uniform shouldn't have fooled them."

"I cut my hair. They didn't know me because I cut my hair."

Mark reached out and pulled off the uniform hat, and laughed. "That's the worst haircut I've ever seen!"

"I've never done it before," explained John.

Mark shook his head. The driver chuckled, and John leaned forward. "By the way, Jack, I was wondering if you might teach me to drive."

Jack glanced in the mirror at the Colonel, "Unlikely, I suspect."

Timothy and Lance were in trouble for losing their prisoner. Timothy had to climb the tree, and retrieve the red shirt, although crashing to the ground afterward and hurting his ankle. Timothy was no longer feeling at all friendly toward John.

Once back in Ward 3, John was deprived of the soldier uniform, and the supplies of bread and chocolate biscuits in the pockets, and Mark started to question him. Instead of a rough battering of questions, he tried relaxing him by sharing a coffee, but while John was perfectly prepared to act as if he was a friend, almost the only thing that he would say was that the soldiers should not be blamed. Mark gave up, leaned back in his chair, and said that he'd have to visit the barber as his hair looked appalling.

John reached up and felt the ragged ends, but then stood, swaying, and looking around him in some panic. The few seconds when he knew the pain was about to strike were always terrifying, especially as he didn't know whether he'd be down for an hour or a month. Mark hadn't seen it before, except on film, and knelt beside him when he staggered violently and fell, grabbing his hand, feeling John's finger nails bite hard into his own hand, drawing blood.

It was another very long bout of illness, periods of unconsciousness, sometimes a brief awakening, and then the pain would hit again. Mark looked in most days, but Isaac kept John as much as possible in the quiet and half dark, especially when he was in that distant world where the only reality was pain. After the second week, there were painkilling drugs and an Intravenous Drip, although that was violently pulled out a couple of times.

A nurse stayed in attendance, Nicki mostly in the daytime, whom John seemed to like, as well as always at least one of his personal guards.

There was plenty of time to analyse the escape attempt at leisure, and to equip far more of the guards with RABs, so that they could instantly know the position of the subject. The grid pattern on the calculator sized gadget showed the area of the Compound, and the scale could be changed to show the whole area of army land, or it could show a detailed segment, so that John's position could be checked very accurately. It was a sophisticated and expensive device that Mark now deemed essential. They called it a RAB 2.

RAB 1 was what John carried unknowingly tucked behind the muscles of his right upper arm, and the faceless men who worked behind the scenes had RAB 3s. The RAB 3 was much larger, and gave the measures of muscle tension, pulse and blood pressure as well as location, though there was a pocket version, too, but that showed only the medical information. The guards were only told that it was a location device, so that John, if he read their minds, would not know that it gave additional information as well.

Time and again, as John lay helplessly sick, film of his attempted escape was run and compared to the readings of pulse, blood pressure and muscle tension. There was a subtle change now and then, that seemed to correspond with times when John had success that he shouldn't have had, cameras that failed, and guards on the gate that accepted an obviously false ID. Was this the physiological indication that accompanied use of his strange power?

There was a certain admiration as well. He was obviously not superman, but he had courage. There was film of the casual walk of just another soldier, whom they now knew to have been the subject, but they had readings of pulse and muscle tension, and could even see where there'd been a jolt of alarm as the siren sounded. And yet the posture remained apparently relaxed. The guard had nearly allowed him out, they suspected, even after the siren.

Mark was having increasing concerns about division of loyalties among his men. He knew himself how he'd come to care for his prisoner, a mixture of admiration for his spirit, and pity for his situation. It had been heart wrenching, even for a tough professional soldier like himself, when John had gripped him so hard when the pain struck. It didn't make any difference. The Colonel was still convinced. John was something different, and he could not be allowed to escape from their hands. It was infinitely better that he died, than that he was free, with the potential to do unimaginable things. But better than that, they really needed to try and find out just what was his power.

Timothy was one of those who did his shift in Ward 3. His anger at John had not outlived the sight of him in such terrible pain. He wondered if anything would come of the anonymous letter he'd sent to the British Embassy about the detention of one of their citizens as a prisoner. He suspected not. John's existence would just be denied.

They learned something more before John was finally over the latest illness. There were a couple of shortlived attacks of pain after the main episode, almost like aftershocks. An observant technician noticed a subtle change in the readings that seemed to occur up to half an hour before John felt anything unusual. If they were right, they would have warning when John was about to go down, much more than the few seconds that John mostly seemed to have.

***chapter end***


	17. Chapter 17

_Part 2/__Chapter 10__:_

It was full summer when John was again out and about, again very thin, again weak, tiring easily. He couldn't work out how he'd been detected, and couldn't get any hints. Things had been going so well. Finally, he concluded that the cameras he thought he'd stopped had just kept going. He had to _practise_ his telekinesis. He couldn't rely on doing it right when he was trying something for the first time. He shivered at the thought of the penalty, the head pain that cursed him afterward, but this time, just as soon as he was a little stronger, he was going to practice.

Mark and Isaac had a serious talk with him one day, asking just how he planned to survive outside. He had no money, his sight was too poor to get a job, and he needed expert care on a regular basis, whenever he was sick. He would either starve to death, or die under a bush somewhere when he went down to the pain. John said they were obviously quite right, they looked after him very well when he was sick, and he'd try and be more content. Isaac smiled at him with surprised relief. Mark looked at him with a great deal of suspicion.

Later, in bed, Clare probed for his real feelings, but her serious questions about his feelings were evaded, as they usually were. She asked him instead, what he thought he'd been in life before the amnesia, and he laughed and said it was obviously not a barber. She tried asking him what he thought his skills might be, as old knowledge and some old skills had obviously been retained.

John cocked his head, looked at her, half teasing, and said that he thought he'd been a professional surfer, as he'd watched a film of surfers, and he knew just when to catch the wave. Whether or not he was serious, the surfing world was checked for mysteriously missing young men, who might have had long hair.

John was surprised that his movements hadn't been limited. Instead, his freedom was increased a little. He was allowed to the store, where small items such as combs and shampoo, as well as confectionary could be purchased. He was never allowed any money, but it seemed he had credit. His guards had power of veto over any purchases, and things like scissors, pocket knives and green T-shirts were not allowed. They did let him buy a small backpack, though, which surprised him.

There was a library, too, and he went in one day, Zack with him, Bob and Timothy taking up position outside. It was only Zack who saw him fondle the books and even take one out. He touched the pages gently, as if with affection, but he was holding the book upside down. He put it back, but later asked Isaac if he could try glasses again. This time, he didn't just have a stab of pain, he fell to his knees, momentarily blacking out.

They tried encouraging him again to attend the Sunday church services, but didn't compel him. Father Herley was prompted by General Buller, and obediently volunteered to see him alone in order to give him spiritual comfort. John politely declined, saying to his guards after that he couldn't think of anything worse than listening to an ignorant man try to offer 'spiritual comfort.' Timothy was shocked, being religious himself. Clare probed later, and discovered that he did indeed seem familiar with the basic tenets of the Christian faith, even though indifferent.

He was letting his hair grow longer again, although it had been trimmed a little more evenly. When questioned, he said that it had always been long, that it seemed right like that. He thought that he could always cut it again if he wanted to look more ordinary, though he didn't say that.

He fully expected to be stopped the day he was strong enough again to leap to the lowest tree branch of his favourite tree. But his guards only looked at each other, and let him go. He didn't notice that Rudy was keeping a close watch on something small in his hand. The baby birds were trying to muster courage for their first flight, and John watched and felt, half seeing, half simply knowing their presence. He felt more at home surrounded by the friendly strength of his tree, than he ever did indoors.

Quite suddenly, a few days later, it seemed that strength came flowing back, and he took advantage of the guards' leniency to leave his tree, out of sight in the heavy foliage, and make his way to a vantage point where he could watch the soldiers at target practice. Then he perched, and waited. He knew the soldiers' presence, and images would come to him suddenly, clearly, and then die away again. Patiently, he waited. His vision had always been like this, and he accepted it as normal for him, though Isaac was beginning to guess at the reality, that he borrowed images from other minds for his own use.

The red shirt was left in the other tree, though he didn't expect his guards to still be fooled by that trick. But he felt, looked down, and saw Rudy just underneath his tree. Looking through the leaves, he saw that the two others were also close. He frowned, and felt for cameras. The tree was friendly, and he thought he could feel if there was a camera attached. He was sure no-one was looking at him. Silently, he moved away. His guards followed, and again, he was sure that no camera looked at him, and he should have been invisible. He sat a while, watching.

Rudy, far below him, make a grinning comment to Bob, and suddenly he saw an image of a blinking dot on a gridded map. He knew now - he was marked, probably in his clothing. He made a test, stripping off every stitch of clothing while in one tree, and then moving away, waiting. The guards consulted their devices, and followed. Slowly, scarcely believing, he felt over his body. Not in his clothing, in himself. Almost automatically, he returned to the first tree, and dressed. It was too bad for tears but tears wet his face anyway. How could he escape now? Recklessly, angrily, he focussed his gaze on a single dead tree a hundred yards away, and after a while, it crashed to the ground, to the sudden alarm of his guards. John felt a brief satisfaction.

Maybe he could feel the intrusive thing inside him, and then make it vanish. And maybe he'd wreck himself if he tried that. His power didn't always work, and there had been times when he'd tried to make something vanish, and something next to it vanished instead. And anyway, if it stopped working, the bastards might just replace it. Or maybe just cut their losses and decide it was time for the dissection. Once, in the night, it had occurred to him that they might try things while he was rendered helpless - vivisection, but that dark thought was put away. Mark and Isaac wouldn't do that to him, surely. On the other hand, he would not have expected them to do this to him, either.

Not trying to hide, and quite swiftly, he made his way through the treetops toward the fence, sometimes swinging from boughs, more often climbing, knowing as if by instinct which branches would support his weight. He finally dropped too heavily to the ground, and rolled, before walking as hard as he could around the perimeter fence, not taking any notice of his guards, hurriedly following.

Later, in the gymnasium, he viciously attacked the punching bag, and when a laughing pair of soldiers pulled Hank toward him, saying that Hank was ready for his fight now, he said that right now he was far too dangerous and Hank might get killed. He was not joking, and they looked at his face, and backed off.

His guards had been tickled pink with their RABs, a little jocular - John wouldn't be able to outwit them now. John didn't think he'd be able to outwit them, either, but he didn't think it funny. To him, it was deadly serious. They stayed only as close as they needed to be that day.

When the shift changed, there were some quiet words, and the new shift was warned. John didn't even go and see Clare, although he never, normally, missed a day. He had his evening meal in the staff dining room, as always, but picked at his meal, and sat at a table alone. Jimmy started to approach him, but Rudy intervened, shaking his head at him.

It was still light outside afterward in the warm summer evening, but John always had to return to his room straight after dinner to be locked in for the night. This time, he hesitated, standing staring out over the Compound. What if he simply refused to go? They'd hit him with the stun gun or something, he supposed.

They stood around, waiting, fingers crossed. He started trembling, wishing desperately for escape, unable to do anything about it. Even now, he was on camera, and Mark watched, prepared for a crisis. It was unfortunate that Clare had left for the night. Mark suspected she might be the only one who could handle him now without brute force. He was sure he knew the problem, having watched film and heard the reports. John knew now that he was marked, and was not taking the knowledge easily. Rudy's zoster vibrated. A warning to the guards from the men whom John never saw - the subject was very tense. Avoid confrontation if at all possible.

John felt himself quite unable to submit to being locked up that night. For more minutes, he just stood, trembling. His guards waited. Zack wasn't on duty, but broke the deadlock, arriving casually, a film in hand, going straight to his friend and taking his arm. He asked if he could come and watch the latest Nick Kingsley film with him. John looked at his friend as if he scarcely saw him, and then nodded, to everyone's profound relief.

Zack stayed with him for most of the evening. John just sat, staring blindly at the film when Zack put it on. Afterwards, when John made no moves to go to bed, he quietly put on another one. "Do you want me to go?" he asked. But John shook his head. There was such a pain within him, and he thought he might explode with it, if left to himself.

"You'll be able to go riding tomorrow," Zack said, "Adam's still crook, but this time they've found someone to take his place."

John nodded. "Riding helps."

Zack finally rose, touched him briefly on the shoulder, and left. There were four guards at his door that night, rather than the usual two.

John remained restless and morose. He rode still, and saw Clare every day, but didn't have the spirit any longer to irritate Davies, or to join in the activities of the soldiers. His telekinesis became more unreliable. He asked to have his meals in his room for a while, and his request was granted. He was deeply depressed. The next time he felt the first warning that the pain was about to bring him down, his gaze fixed on Bob's holstered handgun. The handgun would blow his head to bits, he thought. They'd have nothing interesting left to dissect. And his head would never hurt again.

But by the time the attack was over, there was a change in the way his guards were armed. Now the close guards no longer wore handguns, but there were an additional two, who never came too close, who did. His intention had been guessed at. In his despair, he took himself to his tree, and tried to make the power come and explode him, so then there'd be _nothing_ left. But nothing happened. Nothing happened increasingly these days, when he tried to do things. It would be autumn soon, and then the leaves would fall, and then there would not be a minute of the day when he could not be watched.

Two weeks after his discovery that he was marked, while he breakfasted in his room, the buzzer sounded. John was a well trained prisoner these days, and just rose and waited where he was supposed to. Mark came in, greeted him casually, and said that they should sit down, while he finished his breakfast. John hadn't seen him for weeks, and regarded him with a distinct hostility. Mark was daunted, and wondered if, after all, he should have been accompanied by the guards. But then John only sighed, and sat down.

"You've been depressed lately," Mark started.

John shrugged. It was impossible for him to hide anything, and maybe it wasn't worth trying.

Mark said that no-one always had exactly what they wanted, that content was being satisfied with what was possible. John glanced at him, wishing him to oblivion. And then he laughed suddenly, bitterly. Mark looked his question. John answered, "I've either got you or I get someone a lot worse. No point wishing you to Hades!"

Mark was quiet, and then spoke frankly, abruptly, "Are you suicidal?"

John said indifferently, "Only if I can think of a way that doesn't leave a body to be gloated over."

Mark sat back, stiffly. "No-one would be gloating over your body."

John glanced at him, "Sorry," but then looked down again. He couldn't even cry. There was no privacy to even cry. He thought it might be the worst thing. Even in the treetops, they would hear if he let himself cry as he needed to.

Mark took a small bottle of tablets from his pocket. "I know you don't like drugs, but these would be under your own control. Isaac says just one with breakfast every morning will help." He looked directly at John. "No-one wants you to be miserable. You know you can't be allowed free, but I _am_ your friend, even if you can't think of me that way. I want what's best for you."

John reached forward, and accepted the small bottle, turning it over and over in his hands. When he looked back at Mark, his eyes were wet, but he said, "Thank you," and put the small bottle next to his coffee.

"Are you going to take them?" Mark asked.

"I don't know."

Mark stood to leave, and only turned at the door. "If you take them all at once, it'll make you as sick as a dog for a few days. One a day, and ask Isaac for more when they run out."

John picked up the bottle again after Mark left, and again turned it over and over in his fingers. Drugs? And he was seriously considering it? Where had his courage gone? Casually, he tossed the bottle in the bin.

Watching, Isaac shook his head. John looked up and spoke direct to the camera, "No way, you bastard!"

Adam and Ernie had a rough ride that day, as John's horse seemed to be full of the devil, bucking and kicking and rearing. Adam lost the rein once, and finally said that if John couldn't make his horse behave, they'd have to go back. At this, the horse threw himself into a gallop, and the three raced around the track, as they'd done so often before.

John wanted to ride close to the barracks of B Force as they returned, outside the fence of course, but looking over at the men he didn't know. They looked back, staring, curious. His horse seemed to be misbehaving again, backing itself around, and suddenly lashing out with its heels, striking the fence again and again. Ernie said, "For God's sake, John, behave yourself!"

John held out his free hands. "What can _I_ do? You have the reins." But the gelding shook his head, and moved away from the bent fence.

He wasn't hiding in his room any more, and presented himself in the staff dining room for lunch. But he still didn't really want to talk to anyone, and chose a time when he knew few would be there.

A young man sat alone. He wore casual civilian clothes, had rather straggly long hair and a beard. John looked at him curiously, then carried his tray over and sat opposite him, greeting him and asking if he was new.

"I came two days ago," said the man, and introduced himself as Cecil.

"My name's John," said John, shaking his hand. "You must be a specialist."

Cecil agreed, and nodded at the soldiers. "Not a very friendly bunch, are they?"

John shrugged. "They're all right when you get to know them. Don't have much of a sense of humour sometimes."

There was an urgent consultation going on among people who watched the action, and listened closely to the talk. John appeared relaxed. "So anyway, what are you here for?"

Cecil said, "New cameras. I'm an expert at putting cameras in areas difficult to access."

John asked, "Like what?"

"Trees, mostly. I climb trees very well, and for some reason, they want cameras in the trees."

"Did they tell you why?"

Cecil shook his head. "Need to know basis, they said, and I didn't need to know." Cecil looked at his new acquaintance, "And you? What do you do?"

John said, "Sorry, Classified Information." And then asked quickly, "Where else besides trees?"

Zack sat down beside them. John courteously introduced Zack to Cecil, mentioning that Cecil was new. Cecil was enjoying his dinner, enjoying the fact that someone was finally being friendly. Zack was in a dilemma. The visiting civilian didn't know why cameras were wanted, and wasn't supposed to know. But he was giving out too much information.

John said, "Where else besides trees?" Cecil started to answer, casually.

Zack interrupted. "Everything's secret here. You can't say anything to _anybody_ about what you do."

John said casually, "Don't be silly, Zack. I've been here forever. There's not many secrets from me." And then to Cecil, "Don't worry about Zack, he's a bit paranoid, a security fanatic. There's nothing secret about trees and cameras." And then he said, still casually, "Now, my work, of course. It wouldn't do to have too many people knowing about the Flu/Ebola cross I'm working on."

Zack groaned. Cecil stared. John continued, "That's what the tree cameras are for, of course, just in case any of the sick monkeys get out."

Zack rose, "Come on, John. That's enough. You're going back to your room for a while." Bob and Timothy were beside him.

John rose, winking at Cecil, "I told you they don't have much of a sense of humour!"

Cecil had to eat in the officers' dining room after that, and found them even less friendly than the soldiers. The limited explanation of the reason for the facility they gave him sounded not quite credible to him, the dismissal of John's words seemed false, and when his mouth opened too far once he finished his two weeks' work and left, it was Flu/Ebola crosses that he spoke of.

John wasn't really punished, his minders too pleased that he seemed more cheerful. They hoped that he might have finally resigned himself to an easy and pleasant captivity. But John was working. Every day, very methodically, trying to make his power work, and work consistently. He paid the price, though the head pain seldom lasted more than a few hours at a time, and after a while, the frequency and severity of attacks began to diminish.

The backroom analysts included some who were not army, recruited to a different service for different reasons. They were still theoretically under the command of Colonel Bedville, but made separate reports, as well. They watched, and drew conclusions, and now suspected that the subject was trying to use that mysterious power, from that subtle change they saw in the readings, almost always when he was out of sight in the treetops. The new cameras never showed anything. As inconspicuous as they were, as cunningly hidden, he seemed to have a very good idea of their position. They didn't know that he had a feeling, that the trees almost told him where there was a disturbance.

When the analysts gave in to temptation, and tried to watch what he was doing as he did it, it only confirmed, for John, what he already knew. He could smash those cameras when he chose, but what he really needed to do was to stop the RAB working. He even knew what it was called now, startling Bob one day by dropping out of a tree almost on top of him while he was checking it, and asking what he called it. Bob looked at Rudy, close by, and Rudy said casually that it was just a RAB, that they were testing them to see whether they might be better than the zoster communicators.

Davies saw John most days, and John participated again in any activities that seemed sufficiently dangerous to be interesting. He was reckless, and Davies was concerned, but the word was still to let him have as much freedom as possible. He was still allowed to climb trees, still allowed to climb and swing on ropes, only when he swam were extra precautions taken, two swimmers in the water with him at all times. There was no problem now, in the height of summer, the extra people needed easily recruited.

He fell once, from a tree, but he'd already been rapidly descending, and only fell ten feet. Once, Davies had a call, and changed his planned activities as requested. Twenty minutes later, John was writhing on the ground, pressing his fists to his forehead. They could tell, for sure, when he was about to go down these days, the warning usually about thirty minutes, but sometimes a lot less.

***chapter end***


	18. Chapter 18

_Part 2/__Chapter 11: _

Major Greenspan had been transferred, and the next in line, Captain Prendergast, blanched at the thought of taking over, but Mark had to go into hospital for a hernia operation. General Buller said that of course, Forster would take over. He was willing, it was best not to let any new people know about Facility 19, and he assured Mark that Forster knew not to make any changes in policy. Mark protested, but the general clapped him on the shoulder, and said jovially, "What harm can he do in just ten days or so?"

Two days later, Forster dropped in, just to be brought up to date, he said. Mark refused to have John taken to Ward 3 for closer observation, but agreed when he requested to see recent film of his activities. He was especially interested in watching as the subject exercised in the gymnasium, or played with others in the pool. There was a game of informal water polo that was now a regular thing, and John was an enthusiastic participant on every occasion he wasn't ill. Forster would have liked to ask to see footage of John with Clare, but couldn't think of an excuse. Once he was in charge, of course, he could even make copies and take them home. He knew it was top secret, but anyone accidentally seeing it would not know that it was anything special.

There were things that Mark didn't bring to his attention, especially his worry that John was practising his mysterious power. He emphasised his sickliness, instead, but regretted it when Forster didn't sufficiently hide his pleasure when he watched film of John rolling on the ground in agony.

"But what can we do?" Isaac said, when Mark shared his worry.

Mark looked at his friend soberly. "He's having nightmares again. He knows there's something wrong, though no-one's told him, of course."

Isaac said, "Some would label him a Sensitive."

"And so he is, but a lot more than that, I think." He added, "I go in Monday."

Isaac nodded. He already knew, less than a week now.

Isaac stared out the window for a while, and finally stirred. "No matter what the general says, John will almost certainly come into conflict with Forster. Forster won't be able to resist exercising his power." He smiled slightly. "He won't risk John hitting him again, of course."

Mark smiled as well. He didn't like Forster. Isaac continued. "Anyway, what we have to do, I think, is knock him out until you're back."

Mark looked surprised. "Keep him unconscious?"

"It might keep him alive."

"He's going down fairly regularly at the moment, isn't he?"

"Every few days, it seems. We'll take no chances. Next time, he just won't wake up until you're back."

Mark shook his head. "He's a responsibility."

They waited. But John didn't go down. When Isaac referred to the attacks, John said optimistically that maybe it'd never happen again. He'd said that before, every time he was free of them for a while. As always, he refused to cooperate in any examination, although his weight was automatically recorded each time he stepped though the door of his bedroom.

Sunday morning, they ran out of time. Forster was coming early. John was to be confined to Ward 3 until he arrived. A quick check of the RABs located him in the library, and checking the appropriate screen showed a clear picture of him running his hand along the backs of books as if choosing one to read. Mark looked at Isaac. "We'll try and persuade him, but it's going to wind up brute force, I suspect. Is it worth it?"

Isaac looked very grim. "You've seen Forster drooling over him in the shower, you know the sort of film that interests him. John's best protection right now is to be safely unconscious in bed."

By the time Isaac and Mark started toward John, he was heading toward the swimming pool changeroom. With Isaac and Mark, were Zack, Rudy and Timothy, the guards John was closest to, although they'd been supposed to be off duty. They would keep their mouths shut, and would follow orders, especially if they knew it was for John's own protection. The guards on duty would come in if needed. But Isaac hoped to persuade John to trust him, and accept the injection. After all, he'd looked after him so often now, as his doctor, and he thought John _should _trust him. He couldn't tell him why he had to have an injection, though. As few as possible must know that he was to be kept deliberately unconscious. Anyway, it was certain he wouldn't agree to being put to sleep for at least ten days.

John sat on a bench in the change-room. He'd already taken off shoes and socks, but was now involved in listening to Rossi, one of the soldiers who worked in administration. Rossi had girl troubles.

Nicholas and Lance stood within the room, at either side of the door. Peter was outside, surprised that they were apparently about to be replaced. John looked up as Isaac and Mark entered, followed by three more guards. A quick word, and Nicholas and Lance left the room. Mark nodded at Rossi, "Thank you, Corporal, we just need to talk to John alone for a moment."

John stared, his eyes going to the three guards whom he knew so well, and who knew him so well. He stood, moving softly, but quite quickly, to a different wall, where no bench might strike him in the back of the legs if he had to fight. He'd known that something was about to happen. Zack's roster vibrated, and a warning voice cautioned that the subject was extremely tense. Isaac started talking. John had to go to Ward 3. He had to have an injection. It was for his own good, and he just had to trust his doctor. Mark thought that Isaac had made a basic mistake. He thought that no mention should be made of any injection until it had been administered.

John was showing no trust at all. His eyes flicked to the guards, warily. His face was calm, but he was trembling. Mark said, "You have to trust us, John. We're acting for your safety. Trust us to keep you safe."

But John answered coldly, "You _cannot_ be trusted."

Mark said sadly, wearily, "Please, John. You have to have an injection. We can't tell you what it's for, but believe me, it's for your own good."

Isaac stepped forward, soothing. "Just a little pinprick, and it'll all be over."

John raised his fists slightly. His voice was still calm, "No."

Zack almost pleaded, "John, we don't want to have to hold you."

John replied, "I didn't want to have to fight you, ever, but I will _not_ submit to an injection."

Mark asked, trying to use a calming, reasonable tone, "How about we go to Ward 3, and we'll talk about it there."

John cast his eyes around, and said, "There's less to trip over in here. I think I'd rather fight here if it's all the same to you."

The guards started to spread out. Isaac said urgently, "Don't use the stun guns!"

John's trembling ceased. Now he stood tense, legs very slightly bent, very slightly on tiptoe, ready for an attack. Isaac and Mark moved back, and Isaac turned his back on John, as he pulled the prepared syringe from its container. Isaac's zoster vibrated. Zack and Rudy were starting to move in, one on each side, Timothy faced John, and waited. John was fully alert, knowing exactly where they were. A step forward, and big Timothy shook his head. How was he on the floor?

John was again backed up, to a different wall this time. But there was nowhere to go, nowhere to run to. Isaac said loudly, "Wait!"

Zack and Rudy paused. Mark jerked his head, and the guards joined him at the door, Timothy rather slowly, still dazed from the lightning blow. The information was shared in a very low voice, the men watched warily by John. John was going to go down. All they had to do was wait.

No-one was attacking John now. He dropped his fists, and put his head very slightly on one side, trying to work out why they'd changed their minds. Mark said calmly that they'd walk to Ward 3 just as soon as John saw reason. There was no hurry.

For ten minutes, they waited, John still tense, but puzzled. He wasn't about to see reason. They should have known. It was like being tied up. He couldn't see reason when he might be made helpless with a drug.

Isaac left the room for a moment so that John wouldn't see him checking his pocket RAB 3. Indications were that he was still very ready to fight.

Maybe it was because of his tension, but John appeared to feel no warning at all, just suddenly fell, convulsing in a violent fit. They had him in his bed in Ward 3 even before the spasms had completely died down, and an Intravenous drip in place hardly any time after that. It seemed that the pain was just too great for drugs to work, and John's eyes opened, but glazed, and showing the agony he suffered. Isaac soothed. John was scarcely aware. The pain ceased, and John's body relaxed.

By the time Forster strutted in, making no effort to be quiet, John lay unmoving, drugged. The nurse, Joe Price, was just adjusting restraints around his wrists. It would please Forster, no doubt, as well as ensuring that the needle in his arm would stay in place.

Isaac nodded at the drip. "To combat shock. The pain he suffers is quite extreme."

Forster looked. "How long is this likely to last?"

"Recent episodes have been only been about a half hour of pain, followed by an hour or two unconscious. It's unpredictable, of course, and I've seen him suffer for fifteen hours non-stop, and almost continuous illness for over a month."

Forster came closer, reached out, and stripped off the covers of the bed. Isaac tried hard to keep his face from registering his disgust. Forster ran a hand over bare ribs. John always seemed thin, seldom well enough for long enough to put on a decent covering of flesh.

"Don't you have to put in a nasogastric tube in order to feed him?" Forster asked.

Isaac said calmly that he didn't think that would be necessary, as he'd probably be up and about fairly shortly.

Forster nodded. "Very well, call me if there's any change."

As soon as he was gone, Isaac covered the naked body again, and set up for EEG monitoring. John must not be allowed to wake up. The screen that showed John on the bed was left on in Mark's office, now being used by Forster. A separate screen soon showed other film of John. It was justified, of course, in Forster's mind. The whole facility was because of John with his possible mysterious powers, and if sometimes he thought that maybe he shouldn't dwell quite so much on those instances when John was fighting, or ill, he would caress the jaw that had been so badly broken, and forget his misgivings.

In the morning, Forster visited early. And again, he pulled down the covers. Now there was a urine bag. Isaac said calmly, "He hates being helpless, and, of course, panics totally when he is restrained and when he has injections."

Forster thought he concealed his satisfaction. He was waiting for the time that John would wake up and fight against the restraints.

There was no change until the middle of the night. Nicki was acting as night nurse, and called Isaac, urgently. Lance was in the room, as well, as guard. John was fretting, probably a nightmare, and looked as if he was about to wake.

"More sedative, straight away, and take off the restraints," said Isaac. "I'm coming."

Nicki managed to get the restraints off just before John woke with a cry. He wrenched himself out of bed, and stood, swaying uncertainly, back to the wall, in a defensive position that seemed instinctive to him. He was looking confused, and when he saw Isaac, said that he had to have a shower.

Isaac nodded. "Of course. We'll get it ready. But how about you get back into bed while it's prepared?"

John's gaze wandered, and then he asked, rather pathetically, "Are you looking after me?"

Isaac soothed, "Yes, I'm looking after you," and suggested again that John get back into bed.

John looked at the bed. "I can't get back into bed. The sheets have to be changed."

Isaac said calmly, "Nicki, change the sheets, please."

The sheets were perfectly clean, but Nicki shrugged and changed the sheets, quickly and efficiently.

When prompted again, John walked unsteadily to the bed, and lay down. His eyes found Isaac's, and he said plaintively, "I don't like it." But his eyes closed, even as tears trickled down his cheeks. When he was securely asleep again, the various tubes and sensors were reattached, the restraints as well, of course.

There was no further change, except that in the morning, when Forster almost demanded it, the nurse inserted the nasogastric tube. Isaac said calmly, "He hates the feeding tube."

Forster shrugged, and uncovered John again. "Look at the poor chap. He's far too thin."

When Forster left, Price awkwardly manoeuvred John into a pair of sleeping shorts. Price was not a particularly compassionate man, but saw no need for Forster to see his patient's nakedness.

Forster was beginning to be frustrated. He wanted some live action from the subject. He knew he wasn't supposed to provoke confrontation, but this was boring. For several days, he left John alone, trying to satisfy himself with watching film of John and Clare together. He wished they wouldn't darken the room so much, or would be a bit more uninhibited. Surely under-the-cover action was old-fashioned, and neither of them were supposed to know there were cameras in Clare's room.

Once, out of a dark curiosity, he watched the film of John's lightning move when he'd had his jaw broken. Not all the film of John ill and in pain, could reconcile him to that episode.

Isaac was in contact with Mark every day. His recovery was proceeding well, though he admitted he was surprised at just how painful the wound had been, and just how little strength he seemed to have the first few days. "Doctors tell lies," he said. "Minor discomfort, my ass!"

Isaac grinned. Doctors did tell lies. What did he tell John not so long before? Just a little pinprick, and it'd all be over?

The day before he was due to leave, Forster visited John one more time, wishing he could think of an excuse to ban the use of sleeping shorts. He liked seeing him as undignified as possible. It should have been enough that he was helpless, restrained, and had the feeding tube he hated. He reached across and touched the closed eyes. "I wonder if he knows that he was thoroughly raped not long before he was found. It must have been several men, and it must have been quite brutal, as there was blood all over his buttocks." He spoke musingly.

John's eyes slowly opened, and he looked at Forster for a long moment, and then smiled slightly and closed his eyes again.

A technician in another room pointed to the pattern they'd begun to think was that of John trying to use his power. This time he was successful. Forster would be afflicted with boils, although they wouldn't start showing for a day or two. There had been a change in the EEG readings, too, but it was disguised by the change caused by the brief awakening, and went unnoticed.

John came to himself slowly, and for a while just lay there trying to work out what had happened. He touched his cheek. He'd been sick, it seemed, at least a week, from the feel of his face. They never shaved him when he was sick, just in case he was tempted into doing it himself, without a razor. Carefully, dizzily, he pulled himself up. Isaac let down the side of his bed, but when he took his arm, John snarled at him, "Get away from me!"

Isaac stood back. John was convinced that this time he was not just sick. They'd done it to him, and maybe they'd done other things to him. John was filled with a roiling bitterness.

Nicki put a cane in his hand, and he accepted it, silently, using it to make his way to the shower. He was very shaky, and needed it. But he snarled at Zack, too, when he came close to help. Expressionless, Zack stood back. Mark, in his office, was notified that John was awake, and flicked to the Ward 3 screens. John was in the bathroom, clinging to the washbasin with one hand and using an electric razor to shave with the other. He looked up, and Mark jumped as the screen went blank, followed by two others situated in the bathroom. It wasn't anything inexplicable, just a fist.

By the time John came out, there was a breakfast on the table, and Isaac was trying to tell him that everything was all right, that he should just have something to eat, and then he could go outside, or to his room, or whatever he wanted. His soothing voice was ignored. John just silently dressed, though he accepted Nicki's help to do the buttons and tie shoelaces. He trembled too much to do them himself. Without a look at the breakfast, John went to the door, finding it unlocked. It seemed that he had the same three guards who'd helped Isaac and Mark make him sick. Zack, Rudy, Timothy. Rudy started to walk close, as John staggered, but Zack shook his head at him, and they spread out a little instead, wondering if he was about to collapse. He was very pale, still shook, and was far too thin again.

All the same, he made it to his tree, and stood, looking up at the branch that he always jumped to.

"Don't go up, John," called Zack, urgently, "You're not strong enough. You'll fall."

John looked at the ground and shook his head. It seemed he could barely see at all today, but he knew exactly where the branch was. He was surrounded by enemies who did unknown things to him while he lay helpless. Only the trees were friendly. In spite of the weakness left from nearly two weeks of lying in bed, he caught the branch and swung himself up into his tree, climbing to his own place. He sat a long time, hooking himself securely into a fork. Watching from a camera, Isaac thought he could have been sleeping, though he couldn't see his face.

The guards had a communication. Try and get him to lunch. John had no watch of his own, which he wouldn't have been able to see in any case. They always told him when it was mealtimes. Calls went ignored. There was a consultation, and a check from those who watched the screens. He could have fainted, they concluded. Maybe a rescue was needed.

Timothy had twisted an ankle last time he'd tried to climb that tree, so Rudy went up this time, slowly and carefully. John was leaning his head back against the trunk of the tree. He was very pale and his eyes were shut. Rudy touched him on the shoulder.

For a moment, John looked confused, and then furious. "Get out of my tree!" he said, and when Rudy tried to say something, he pulled himself up, and said even more forcefully, "Get out of my tree!"

Rudy's words were ignored. John was trembling, and spoke in a deadly tone, "Get out of my tree or I'll throw you out!"

Rudy shook his head, and descended. Sixty feet above the ground was no place for a fight.

John held the branches of his tree. The tree would help him, she was strong and friendly. The lenses of the tree cameras were mostly very small, and tucked into holes made in branches, or in the trunk. Often their presence was disguised in a natural knothole. John held out his hand, and a foot long, pointed stick appeared in it. Carefully, the stick was pushed against the camera lens, and then bashed in with a flat surfaced stone, also conjured. One camera down.

Methodically, John went from tree to tree, and destroyed each one of the tree cameras so carefully installed not so long before. Mark watched from his office with a slight smile on his face, as one screen after another went blank. It was hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of damage. It was apparent that John felt a little aggrieved.

John stayed in his trees most of the day, sometimes sleeping. He didn't want to talk to his enemies whom he used to treat as friends. There was no trust left in him.

Once, Zack looked up, feeling his gaze on him. John was only fifteen feet or so up. Zack shivered. What was he thinking? For the first time, he thought he could really be in danger from the young, sick man who could sometimes access a strange power.

Isaac and Mark were in Mark's office. "We'll have to do something, Mark." Isaac finally said. "He's not strong enough to go without food. And besides, this is John. I don't think he can live and stay sane if he doesn't have companionship."

Mark said, "Prendergast was talking to me. There's been problems with discipline since we took John down. The men know, and they don't like it."

"Rudy had a black eye ten days or so ago. There's been fighting." No screens showed John any more, although Mark had one open that showed the area of trees he was known to be in. Underneath, there were some graph lines, with occasional numbers coming up. Isaac crossed to the screen, and looked closely. "Tell him?"

A nod, "We'll tell him"

John was tired and hungry. When Zack ordered him firmly to come down, and told him they were to go to Mark's office, and maybe a few things could be explained, he did as he was told. Silently, he accepted the cane, but shrugged away the helping hand. Zack stayed close. John was not fit enough yet for this. When he entered Mark's office, Mark calmly greeted him. There was an array of food on the large desk, although nothing else. John leaned against the wall, face impassive, as Mark remembered he'd done when he first told him the reason for his imprisonment. Mark said, "The cameras have been switched off, all but one, and even that one has been taken out of the network. I expect to destroy the film after this little talk."

John abruptly abandoned his cool facade. "What did you do to me?" His voice shook.

Mark very calmly said, "We kept you safe from Forster. I had to have an operation, and Forster took over while I was off duty. We thought it best if Forster had no excuse to hurt you."

John just stood. He didn't know what to believe. His head was buzzing with fatigue, and he was filled with distrust.

Isaac said, "Mark, why don't you show him the scar."

Mark was a bit reluctant, but looked at John. John was never given a chance to retain any dignity. Silently, he undid his belt, and drew his trousers and underpants down sufficiently that the livid scar from the inguinal hernia repair was clearly visible.

John was irritable. "There's no point showing me. I can't see."

Isaac glanced at the guards, all of them politely looking away. He looked closely at the scar himself, and John looked surprised at Mark. "But that's barbaric! Surely the healers could fix you without doing that to you!"

Mark smiled, and shook his head. "If they know a better way, they didn't tell me!"

John sat, and when Mark passed him some sandwiches, accepted one without demur, suddenly ravenously hungry.

Isaac smiled, and he also knew just a little more about the strange man. He thought operations were barbaric - where had he come from? And he could see if someone else saw. At the same time, he wasn't reading minds, and didn't even seem to know that they were acting for his own good, until he saw solid evidence.

***chapter end***


	19. Chapter 19

_Part 2/__Chapter 12__:_

John's relations with his guards didn't return to what they had been, although they seemed to on the surface. They could do what they wanted to him, whenever they wanted, and when he thought about his helplessness to prevent it, he felt very badly frightened. His behaviour became more erratic, and his recklessness in the trees, and often on Davies' equipment, worried his minders. When he rode, it seemed as if he just wanted to gallop as hard as he could. He was sometimes hard to control, and they were changing horses every day now, as he always wanted to gallop hard enough to thoroughly tire the horses.

They heard him apologising to the horse he rode once, burying his head against its neck. They suspected that he cried. There were times when he'd decline to go out of the Compound, so that at least he'd be off the lead. Adam and Ernie reported that on these occasions, his horse would often be bucking furiously, as if viciously, though he never looked to be in the slightest danger of falling. It was an expression of John's turmoil.

He exercised rigorously, swimming constantly, whenever he was allowed, and working determinedly in the gymnasium at other times. He was walking too, hard and fast, around and around the perimeter track, seldom stopping to talk to the guards who had been his friends. The leaves coloured, and started to fall from the trees. Autumn again.

His telekinesis was finally beginning to become more reliable, and when he conjured a bread roll out of thin air, he abandoned the term, and thereafter thought of it simply as magic. Unfortunately, the bread roll tasted vile. But if he could do magic, he _must _be able to escape. Sometimes he looked at his guards with a shadowed gaze, which made them nervous. But still, he didn't want to hurt anyone, and didn't even know if he _could _hurt anyone with his magic.

One morning, he made his escorts quite nervous when he sat on his horse, and watched through the fence at a sergeant who was drilling some of B Force. He watched a long time, not saying anything, just looking closely at the men, who glanced nervously at him whenever their sergeant wasn't watching. Nothing happened, though. They still put as few constraints on him as they could.

Quite suddenly, his rides were limited, and he was no longer allowed to go anywhere near the external fence. It took a while for him to find out why. His escorts wouldn't tell him, and he finally overheard some talk at dinner time. Demonstrations against Germ Warfare, becoming larger and more organised all the time, at the gates that B Force guarded, and at spots around the fences, too.

The true reason for the well guarded area of army land was secret, so in the absence of an alternative explanation, rumours spread. When he mentioned it to Adam and Ernie, making it obvious that he knew what was happening, their tongues were loosened. "It was on TV last night," said Ernie. "Apparently there's rumours we're developing a Flu/Ebola cross."

John laughed, and his escorts grinned. Poor John didn't laugh enough these days.

John was docile the following day as they led his horse out the gates of the Compound. Adam and Ernie were relieved. He wanted to walk as close as they allowed him, staring at the crowds of people beyond the fence, almost out of sight of even his guards. "You know, they're the first people I've ever seen who don't work here, and almost the first civilians."

The pair who accompanied him, gaped at each other. They knew theoretically that he had amnesia, but didn't comprehend the reality.

John was gazing across at those far in the distance. He was feeling now, trying to feel those in the crowd, not noticing the way that Adam and Ernie looked at him. He turned back to them, and said persuasively, "It wouldn't do any harm just to go a little closer."

Adam nodded. "A little closer." They couldn't satisfy John, who yearned to see those people from outside.

There was a new horse for him the next day, and, as Ernie wasn't available, there was Marinon, who'd done the job a few times before. The black mare was a beautiful animal. There was a slash of white on her rump, and the black mane and tail had white strands. "It's the best," said Adam, as John greeted the animal. "Only a five year old, a Line of Sheba mare. Colonel Bedville chose her for you personally - he said that black hair with white strands - it had to be meant for John."

John fussed over the mare, but asked, "What's the Line of Sheba?"

"It's a horse stud, English, renowned for producing showjumpers. It seems the Colonel's neighbour imports a few every year for resale here."

Again, John only wanted to go as close to the crowds beyond the fence as his guards would allow. The mare went kindly for him, but horses always did. He didn't know why this one should make the homesickness rise in him so much more than usual. He reminded himself as he had before, that he may not even have a home. He didn't know. He only knew that his prison, the only home he remembered, was not home, no matter how Mark might try to make it as if it was.

Adam's zoster vibrated in his chest pocket. He nodded, and said, "We have to take you much further away. A couple of them have binoculars."

John looked back, as they started to lead him away. But suddenly the misery rose in him, and his mare reared, pulling the rein out of the hand of Marinon, and breaking the one held by Adam. And then she streaked away, heading towards a stand of tall trees, much closer to the fence. He had the single remaining long rein in his hand by now, so that Naji wouldn't trip over it.

There were still sharpshooters with rifles stationed in jeeps around, but while they aimed, they didn't shoot. Guards of B Force were aiming, as well, to the shocked exclamations of civilian spectators, especially those with binoculars.

Naji jolted to a stop under a tree. John swiftly knelt, and then stood on the saddle, grabbed a high branch, and climbed the tree. Trees were his friends and he wanted to see the people who were free. Naji shook her head and moved off, alertly watching the swearing, furious guards. RABs were being consulted, and jeeps were moving closer to the trees where the subject was hiding, far too close to the boundary.

The demonstrators started chanting again. They were just a colourful blur in his sight. There was a woman in red right at the front and suddenly, he could see her. There were children. John thought he'd never seen children, except on film. The soldiers were trying to make them go further back, off army land, which extended only a hundred yards or so back behind the twin high fences. One raised a hand, threateningly, to the woman in red. The woman stood her ground.

John felt the soldier, felt his cruelty, felt his mind. The soldier fainted. John had his head tilted. He'd done it, but was the man all right? He waited. He thought he was all right. If he could make a soldier faint, he thought he might be able to escape, though he also had to make the RAB stop.

He glanced down. There seemed to be at least a dozen soldiers beneath him. He swung himself to a different tree, leaping recklessly across the intervening gap. Rifles followed him. They'd shoot him if he gave them much further excuse. He dropped to a low branch, and he whistled. Naji came galloping, and he swung himself down, onto her back, and crouched, as Naji streaked back towards the Compound. Marinon and Adam turned their horses to follow, galloping hard. The stables were outside the Compound, surrounded by a fence. John had never been allowed there, but now he slowed, and trotted Naji through the open gate.

Marinon and Adam were warned. The subject was very tense, and might fight. Try not to provoke a confrontation. They watched, and hung back.

John was very tense. He might be miserable, but he was somehow going to go home. He didn't want to be shot. As if casually, he greeted Gus, who looked after the horses. He'd never met Gus. "I rode her too hard," he remarked.

Gus grunted. "You're always doing that. I'll walk her a while."

John regarded him. "Would you mind walking me back into the Compound first? If I'm escorted, they probably won't shoot me."

Gus nodded, and gave a sidelong smile. "They might give me a medal."

John was beginning to relax. He shrugged ruefully, "I'll be in trouble." He stroked Naji. "She's the most beautiful horse."

Naji whickered, and then stepped closer, putting her head over his shoulder. He hugged her, holding her very tight for a moment. Gus grunted, looked away, and then said they'd best be going.

Gus was commended. John was confined to his room for the rest of the morning, and advised that he wouldn't be allowed to ride out of the Compound for a week, and after that, only on Bess. He could still ride inside the Compound. They were lenient, but Isaac and Mark spent an hour looking at film and reports about John's almost magical communication with his horses. He'd ridden Naji for the very first time that morning, and she'd done exactly what he wanted her to. She'd even galloped straight to him when he whistled from the tree. They learned more when John was disobedient than when he was being docile.

In his room, John thought carefully of the soldier whom he'd made faint, and suddenly knew he was fine. A picture came to him, somebody mocking his faint, and he felt the anger of the soldier, who wanted to punch. It was a triumph. He could make a soldier faint, and without really hurting him.

At lunch, Mark dropped into a chair next to John. John wasn't alone. He was listening to Rossi's girl problems again.

John looked up, and smiled. "Naji is the most wonderful horse!" he said enthusiastically, and proceeded to amuse Mark by describing at length just how wonderful she was.

Mark smiled at him. "She only cost us as much as one of the cameras you break whenever you're in a bad mood."

John shook his head. "If I broke cameras whenever I was in a bad mood, you'd have none left."

The soldiers didn't like it when Colonel Bedville ate in the staff dining room with John. Officers should leave them in peace while they ate. Rossi finished his meal quickly, and left. Others of the soldiers were quiet, constrained. None of them lingered. Mark thought with amusement that only his prisoner treated him with no respect whatever, and yet he totally ruled John's life. He didn't rule his soldiers' lives.

"You're an awful lot of trouble, you know, John," remarked the Colonel.

John looked frowningly at him, and suddenly said, "Come for a walk with me?" Mark was surprised. John said, "After lunch. Come for a walk with me."

Mark nodded, slowly.

John led the way to a large open area. There were no trees. The guards, at Mark's look, stayed out of earshot.

John stopped after a while, and looked all around, head up, almost as if feeling the air. He started to slowly walk again. "The trouble with soldiers," he said, "Is that they don't think."

Mark was silent.

"They obey orders, but if only they'd think for themselves, wars would be impossible for a start."

Mark said firmly, "Soldiers have to obey orders. Sometimes wars are necessary."

John turned, pacing back slowly the way they came, keeping to the same open area where he'd seldom been. Backroom analysts were undecided. This sort of behaviour would normally have them aiming long distance microphones. But John was talking to Colonel Bedville, in charge of the whole facility.

John stopped a moment, looking directly at Mark. "You're a soldier, and you're not thinking. It was twenty-four years or so before I came under your control. No disasters occurred, the world didn't end. I am _not_ dangerous."

Mark was silent. John stood looking at him. Mark wished he wouldn't ask, but he did, quite simply. "Mark, let me go?"

Mark started walking again, John paced him. Quietly, Mark said, "It would be my career, of course."

John said nothing.

For ten minutes they paced, quietly, back and forward across the open area of land, where no microphones listened to what they said. In the end, Mark sighed heavily. "If I thought it was the right thing, I would sacrifice my career. But it's not the right thing. The right thing is to do my duty, and I firmly believe that my duty is to keep you confined, and try and discover, if possible, just what the strange power is that you have."

John said sadly, as if sincerely, "I have no strange power. I'm just an ordinary man who's been very badly damaged. But I won't ask again."

Mark glanced at him. "Ask for whatever's reasonable, and I'll try and do it for you."

John was feeling a bitter depression, but he smiled brilliantly at Mark. "I want the store to start carrying ice-creams, and in at least twenty-four varieties."

Mark clapped his shoulder, laughing. "Done!"

That night there was a power failure. The emergency generators failed. Even the RABs that ran on batteries, failed. They searched and searched for John. All that day, and most of the next, before the RABs started working again. He was hidden in a wet hole, not far from the external boundary, past both sets of high fences, but still on army land, just near the low, perfectly ordinary fence that ran alongside the road. He was covered with mud, and scarcely visible, even when one stood almost on top of him. The area had been searched several times, without result.

John was in a deep coma. The illness had struck at the most fortunate time for his gaolers, the least lucky for John. On the other hand, he was very cold and his illness continued for the next week. Undiscovered, he would have died.

Mark came into Ward 3, very softly, on the third day. The light was dimmed. John was awake, but his eyes showed the agony that attacked him. Mark stood looking at him for a while, until John turned glazed eyes to him. Mark silently stepped back.

John was becoming more blatant in his use of his power, although there was still no evidence caught on film. Mark thought they wouldn't hold him for much longer unless he was brought more firmly under their control. Option C, they called it, but it was still not ready. About three weeks, they thought. They couldn't test it on humans. Even on a condemned criminal, it would be unethical.

***chapter end***


	20. Chapter 20

_Part 2/__Chapter 13:_

By the time that John was out and about again, the trees were bare, and the weather suddenly colder. John was optimistic. He'd be out by Christmas. He would have managed it last time, if only he hadn't become sick. They couldn't keep him now his magic was working so much better. He seldom had failures any more.

John was _never_ out from under the eyes of guards now. They were even in his room at night, two of them. He was ready to try again. But when the lights went out, and Nicholas fainted, Peter took two quick strides to John, and used the stun gun, sending him into a fit.

The zosters buzzed. Peter answered that John was still in custody and was warned that the cameras were not operating, but they'd be told as soon as they were online again. The emergency generator kicked in, and there was more light.

Nicholas quickly revived, and he and Peter waited a little until John recovered consciousness. As they expected, he was dazed and disoriented. Nicholas took his revenge. John made no move to defend himself, and Nicholas tried to leave no marks.

Zack was surprised the following morning when John declined his ride, although talking to Naji, and making a fuss of her. He only said that he'd slept very badly, and was tired. He didn't climb any trees, although he swam for a little while, and spent a long while in the spa. Only Clare noticed that he moved with difficulty at times, but Clare had other things on her mind, and didn't report the observation.

Nicholas and Peter were apprehensive. Use of the stun gun was justified, but taking it upon themselves to administer punishment could get them into big trouble.

But John said nothing, reckoning that a few bruises that didn't even show, were a small price to pay for keeping this escape attempt quiet. He could try again, though not with Nicholas and Peter, who'd been too quick, and were now warned. He complained to Zack that he couldn't sleep while hostile guards watched him, that if he had to be watched at night, maybe the male nurses could do it. At least he was used to them.

Zack checked, and it was confirmed for him that John was sleeping very badly, often spending hours just pacing.

Mark, when consulted, pointed out that maybe his dislike of these particular guards meant that they were being effective. They watched some film. Each time that John was apparently asleep, Peter and Nicholas held stun guns out and ready, and usually, at least one of them at other times, too.

On the other hand, John joined them one night as they played cards, and coaxed them into describing their families' Christmas traditions. It seemed he couldn't get enough, and wanted all the details, even those of tired, cross cooks, and evening hangovers.

"What about your own Christmas traditions?" asked Nicholas. "What does _your_ family do?" Some of the guards never quite believed in the amnesia.

John leaned back, and gave them a highly imaginative story of Christmas on his home planet of Chroostya, where they fattened glowchooks, and ate them after the second sun went down. When the glowchooks were gone, of course, it was dark, and that's when the fertility festival started. John entertained himself considerably with his own imaginings, although Nicholas and Peter were not at all sure whether to believe it. The three men laughed together, but when he lay down again to sleep, getting toward dawn, they pulled out the stun guns.

Mark showed Zack the film, and afterwards, Zack agreed that Nicholas and Peter should stay. John wasn't really suffering, and he didn't think any of the other guards would be quite so ready for problems. Eight in the evening until eight in the morning, every night, no days off, and no meal breaks, except those they had in John's room. When they complained, they were promised a lengthy holiday over Christmas.

The day after the story of Christmas on Chroostya, John drifted off to sleep in Clare's bed, sinking deeper and deeper into sleep. Clare stroked his hair. She'd become very fond of John, who always showed such an obvious joy in their lovemaking, and gave as much pleasure as he received. The watchers said to the Colonel that it was obvious that when it came time for his operation, they could take him as he slept with Clare. Clare was an agent. Maybe she could administer the injection as he slept.

They didn't tell him she'd left a suicide note. Only that she'd been called away suddenly and would not be back. John stared blankly at Zack when he was told, and said quietly that she should have told him good-bye. Zack said stoutly that she was doing a job, the same as the rest of them, and probably there would be a replacement. John looked at him, and finally said, a break in his voice, that women were not replaceable, that he didn't want any other woman.

But two days later, to Zack's amusement, his eyes were following Emilie, one of the few female soldiers.

Clare Glover had planned it carefully. Although at first, she'd considered an abortion, her heart turned over at the very thought. She couldn't do that. But she didn't want her child watched, possibly imprisoned, as John was. Her baby might be unusual. Her agent's skills came in useful. Evidence of a suicide was strong, although it didn't include a body. False identification was well within her capabilities, and her travel documents were all under a different name. John's latest baby, conceived in spite of excellent contraception, would be brought up in Australia.

John started having more frequent nightmares. His escape was urgent. He didn't know something was planned, but was filled with the sense of the urgency. He couldn't get away at night, and he hadn't previously thought of evening, as there were always so many around. But he was beginning to be desperate. Night fell early in winter, and it was full dark by dinner time.

Bob and Rudy watched from close to the door of the staff dining room, Timothy next to the internal door that led to the large kitchen and officers' dining room. John was at a table, looking relaxed, even carefree, listening to Kyle and Jimmy try to explain the rules of baseball. It seemed he wasn't familiar with the game. His guards were warned. The subject was woundup, tense. It was thought that he might be about to try something. They knew the watchers had information they didn't. They were very alert.

John had just made a laughing comment to Kyle, when the lights went out. The guards grabbed the torches they were now issued with, and played them over the room. John was discovered suddenly in bright light again, with his hand on the far wall. There was no door there. "Grab him!" bellowed Bob. A nearby soldier, rather hesitantly, took John by the arm, as his guards strode over to him.

John leaned against the wall, looking as if amused. "Don't get your knickers in a knot! There's not even a door here."

"Don't get your _knickers _in a knot?" said Kyle.

John shrugged, still hiding his acute disappointment. He'd been about to make a hole in the wall, step through, fix it, and be gone before they could work out what was happening. But he still tried not to make his magic obvious, and this time, he only said, "Just an expression. It means don't get upset." He looked kindly at his guards, and spoke to Kyle. "They get nervous, poor chaps, just because there's a blackout now and then."

At that moment, the lights came back on. Bob and Rudy both had John now, holding him very firmly, one at each arm. Timothy actually had his baton in hand. John glanced at the baton, and asked if it was all right to finish his dinner. Rudy said bitterly, "I should bloody handcuff you to the chair!"

A jolt of alarm surged through John, but he tried to show no indication, only said with some apparent indignation, "I've been perfectly well behaved. I was eating dinner and there was a blackout."

Rudy looked sceptical, and he'd felt the flinch as he mentioned handcuffs, too.

Delivered afterward to his bedroom, Peter and Nicholas were warned that he'd tried something, though they didn't know what. John said nonsense, and asked if Peter and Nicholas would like him to make them coffee. They glanced at each other, and accepted. Like John, they'd come to the conclusion that life was easier if they pretended to be friends whenever not actually in conflict. But when John was supposedly watching a film, he was racking his brains again. He had magic, didn't he? _Surely _he must be able to get away, and without hurting anyone.

Nicholas felt John's eyes on him and drew his stun gun. They were always ready. John looked away.

The anti Germ Warfare demonstrators lost their enthusiasm with the cold weather, and the sight of an apparent prisoner riding a horse didn't fit their theories. With the disappearance of the demonstrators, the limitations on John's riding were eased. There was no way he could escape in full daylight, with riflemen watching him. He loved Naji, and seldom exhausted her, so that nearly every day, it was Naji that was led into the Compound for him. They let him visit the stables afterward now, when he wanted to, and he could talk to all eight of the horses, including Bess, whom he was so fond of.

There were only a few days left of November when General Buller came to visit. For the first time, he asked Mark if he could meet the subject, rather than just see the film.

"Of course," said Mark, "But don't expect any great subservience from him - he'll probably, perfectly casually, call you Stan."

Buller smiled. "He sounds a character."

"Sometimes, it's like he sparkles with life, and yet, other times, he looks as cold as ice, as if he has no emotion whatever."

He then impressed the general by quickly checking the RAB, bringing up four screens, and pointing to one that showed John and three soldiers, including a woman, eating ice-creams in the very weak sunshine.

"Ice-creams!" said Buller. "In the middle of winter!"

"I asked him about that. He said that this cold is nothing compared to that of Riosta, where he comes from."

"Riosta?"

"It means nothing. He just likes to keep us hopping. The backroom boys are still trying to work out where the expression, to get your knickers in a knot, might originate. But they think he made it up."

The soldiers saluted and edged off respectfully as the senior officers approached, but not before John whispered in the ear of Emilie, who shook her head laughingly. She'd have liked to, but where?

As expected, John greeted General Stanley Buller, as Stan, and asked why he hadn't met him before. Buller made an evasive reply, before starting an easy conversation about Christmas rituals. John laughed. "Did you hear about the glowchooks?"

Buller smiled. "They told me about the glowchooks, but I wanted to know what you'd really do for Christmas if you were free."

John looked at him. The man was quite small, and his hair was grey. He wondered if this man could free him if he chose. And when he looked musingly into the distance, for a change, he didn't pretend. "There would be lots of lights. Lots and lots of all coloured lights so that other people would sneer at the vulgarity of the display. But they'd sparkle over the snow, and look like nothing but Christmas."

Mark had never seen this face of John. He'd spoken in a yearning tone, not hiding his longing. "Who would be there, John?" he asked softly.

John laughed, "I'll have seven sisters, and three brothers. They all have children, and there would be fights all day, because Timothy told me, cousins always fight."

Buller asked, "Do you have a wife, John?"

John stared at the vision in his mind. He would have a wife. It must be so wonderful to sleep with a woman all night, to be able to reach out a hand, and touch whenever he wanted. He shook his head, and spoke now in a flat voice. "I don't know."

The two senior officers glanced at each other. It didn't look as if they'd get anything more out of John, and there was no information in what he'd said. Just the desire for a normal life, and the longing not to be so alone.

General Buller changed the subject, and he and Mark talked about horse breeding, until John started to speak more naturally again.

Buller finally said, "Can I see this wonderful horse of yours?"

John looked at Mark. "The stables are outside the Compound. It's up to the boss." Mark nodded.

John was accustomed to the guards that surrounded him, but Buller was surprised when three personal guards stayed close, and four more soldiers surrounded them at a greater distance, all very aware of the subject. The stables along with a small field nearby were fully enclosed with a fence that didn't look easy to climb, and the gate was firmly closed after they passed through. But John seemed relaxed, and Buller reminded himself that this sort of environment was all he knew.

John caressed Bess, "She's the best little mare, Stan. It's not really in her nature, but she learned to buck and play with me when I wanted it. And she's quiet and easy if I'm not well."

Buller was surprised. "And _this _is the famous horse?" They were in the field where the horses spent most days, though stabled at night. John whistled, and the glossy, black mare pranced over to him.

"This is Naji," he said. "She's the best too, in a different way."

He knew all the horses, and they all knew him, even those that Adam and Ernest habitually rode. There was some competition. They all wanted to be close to him, but little Bess was closest.

As they started walking back to the Compound, General Buller looked at the more distant soldiers. He'd ask Mark about those later. John didn't even seem aware of them, and he knew that his eyesight was erratic. He'd known each horse though, even the ones who looked quite similar to each other.

John said a friendly hello to the gate guards as he was let back into the Compound. He still acted as if it was routine, not as if he was a prisoner, desperately looking for escape. General Buller said, casually, "It's unlikely that Jarred Forster will be back, by the way, John. He's on long term sick leave. Boils. Every time he seems a little better, they just come back. I saw him yesterday. He could barely walk. A very inconvenient spot, apparently."

John was surprised. "I thought no-one had boils any more. Isn't it a very old fashioned thing? A bad diet or something?"

Buller threw him a shrewd look. "It is rare. And the doctors don't seem able to help. That's why I wondered if you had something to do with it."

"Me?" said John, in blank astonishment. "I haven't even seen him since..." He reddened. He still hated to think how he'd so completely lost control and nearly hurt Zack.

Mark said casually, "When Jarred was here in September, John was ill. I don't think he even saw him."

John confirmed, "I don't remember seeing him then."

John stood still, watching after Stan as he left with Mark. He'd quite deliberately exposed himself a little, but he didn't think it had made the slightest difference. He went to the gymnasium and hammered into the punching bag for a while.

In Mark's office, the general was saying that John did cause a conflict of loyalties sometimes. Mark nodded. "The female agent who used to report on him finally committed suicide. She said that it was too hard any longer."

"I saw the report. Is she to be replaced?"

"I've asked for a replacement. She gave us more of an insight into John's true feelings than we had from any other source. Today was unusual. I think it's almost the first time he's shown himself so much."

Buller frowned over his coffee. Finally, he put it down on the desk. "Mark, do you think we're really justified, keeping this young man prisoner?"

Mark nodded with certainty, "We're justified. I didn't know about Forster before, but now I'll show you something."

It took a while to find the particular piece of film. It showed John unconscious. Forster had looked at him, and spoken about the rape. Quite clearly, John was seen to open his eyes, smile, and then close them again. Mark said, "He was unconscious, ill, and probably doesn't remember. But see this graph tracing along at the bottom of the picture. It shows a pattern that we're convinced now indicates those times when he's using, or trying to use his power. Just before he smiles. I think it very likely that John is responsible for Forster's boils."

Buller said after a pause, "Jarred has his faults, but he's in almost constant pain now. I don't think he deserved that."

Mark said nothing, but he thought that Forster had asked for it.

Buller spoke again. "It would have appeared to have been an unequal battle, but it appears that your John Doe won."

Mark sighed. "It's not Forster who's scheduled for a brain operation next Tuesday."

"Next Tuesday?"

Mark nodded. "They're just trying to establish the likely range, but after Tuesday, brainwaves will be monitored, and at the press of a button, we can disable him by rendering him unconscious, and if he becomes uncontrollable, he can be killed. And at a distance of eighty kilometres, maybe more."

Stan Buller sighed, and nodded. "Option C. I know."

"We've labelled the device, CUZ, for convenience. Like RAB, it doesn't actually stand for anything, although it misleads anyone prying. But I'm quite convinced that Option C is essential. He's becoming harder and harder to control. Even surrounded by guards, encircled by high fences, often ill, and yet he's come close to escape more than once. And I don't think he yet knows his own full power. It's either this, or simply ensuring that next time he goes down to the head pain, he doesn't wake up."

Buller spoke irritably. "I know, I know. I wouldn't have approved it if I didn't agree the necessity. It's just that seeing him today..."

Mark smiled sadly. "I like him too."

Buller walked to the window, looking over the well tended grounds, the high fences as a backdrop. "The same surgeon?"

"Bartlett will assist, but he says it's very precise brain surgery. We've found someone, though." His face was grim. "He's been de-registered for unethical research, but he's an expert."

That night, John screamed and fought his bedclothes in his panic to escape his nightmare. Nicholas took the lead, acting to soothe him as he shook violently afterward, tears still on his face. Peter set a mug of hot chocolate on the table for him, and after a while, he used both hands to take the soothing drink. They wouldn't let him outside to walk it off, of course, as he wanted, but the unexpected kindness stopped him trying, the next night, to make them both faint at once.

Instead, Sunday afternoon, in low light and drizzling rain, he walked behind a shelf of books in the library, and was not seen again until he was stopped with a warning burst of rifle fire from one of the guards on the fence. He was becoming more desperate, and Isaac and Mark knew that he was having repeated nightmares. They stayed away from him. If they came close, they thought, he'd know.

Monday, he raced as hard as he could, riding Naji, the long reins held very securely by Adam and Ernest, on their horses. The sharpshooters in their jeeps were very alert. All the soldiers knew of the increasingly reckless escape attempts. It was harder to be relaxed with him now, when their orders made it clear that he was liable to try and escape from anywhere, any time.

Monday afternoon, Emilie took him to bed with her in her own room in the soldiers' barracks. The encouragement had come from her own supervisors, on instructions from above. Afterwards, he held her very tight, and, quite suddenly, he was sobbing in her arms as she held him close and tried to calm him.

He was very apologetic afterwards, and when she asked why he couldn't just be content with what he had, he caressed her face, and only said that he was a fool. To tell her that he was terrified that they were about to do something to him would only lay an unnecessary burden on her. She thought she was a tough soldier, in spite of her gender. John could never think of a woman as any sort of a soldier.

They were watched, though Emilie didn't know that. They hoped he might fall into a deep sleep, and then he could be drugged as he slept, in Emilie's room. They still preferred him not to start fighting. But he only made love with her a second time, kissed her very tenderly afterward, and went to his cold, bare tree for a while, ignoring the rain. Emilie stared a while from a distance, at the lonely figure surrounded by his guards. There seemed to be more guards all the time.

The operating theatre was prepared for brain surgery. Ward 3 was prepared for the recovering patient. They expected he'd miss Christmas, as the head wound had to be completely healed before he was allowed to wake. He was not to know what they'd done to him. His hair would not be shaved, for the same reason.

Worried by his guessed at powers, they aimed to take him down in the early hours of the morning, when he was most likely to be asleep, although that was by no means certain these days. The surgeons would be ready for him at four in the morning. Nicholas and Peter would not be warned, in case he was alerted by a difference in their behaviour, or simply by somehow knowing what they knew. He was a Sensitive.

***chapter end***


	21. Chapter 21

_Part 2/__Chapter 14:_

It was a little after three in the morning, very early Tuesday, the second of December, not quite two years since John had found in a New York gutter. The zosters vibrated soundlessly in the breast pockets of Nicholas and Peter, both. Their separate messages were identical. John was about to be overpowered and drugged. They were to help.

John's eyes opened even before the door of his room. It was now, and he swung himself out of bed and tried to fight as four men piled onto him. A chloroform pad was held to his face, and another tried to hold his arm still long enough for Price to do the injection. John fought off the cover over his face, and cried desperately to where he knew the camera was, _"Mark! Don't do it to me, Mark!"_

Mark was watching, but only set his jaw and tried not to betray his tension to those others in the large Surveillance Room, those whom John had never met, though he guessed at their existence. The injection was made finally, through the material of sleeping shorts. John still tried to fight, though his face was covered with the pad of Chloroform. His struggles became weaker and finally ceased. The soldiers stepped back, panting.

Captain Prendergast formally commended Peter and Nicholas on an excellent job, and gave them six weeks leave and a caution not to tell anyone anything, except that John was ill again. They saluted, and watched their helpless charge wheeled away. "He had tears on his face," Peter said.

A little later, as they turned into the soldiers' barracks, Nicholas said something else, "Maybe we should have turned our backs - just let him go."

Peter nodded glumly. In the showers in the morning, as the hissing water hopefully made any microphones useless, the information was passed on. John was sick again, but it was because they were doing something to him.

For the next few nights, it was Mark who found he couldn't sleep. The shrieked words came back to him again and again. _Don't do it to me, Mark!_ It was easier for Isaac, as his sheer interest in the procedure and the subsequent unnaturally fast healing of his patient, kept him enthralled. There was no need for any EEG monitoring this time, as CUZ gave the same information and a bit more.

The physical wounds were healing very quickly, but John was not supposed to wake for at least another week. It was an hour and a half before dawn. Isaac was called, and then Mark was notified. The patient was fretting, sometimes briefly soothed when the nurse, Nicki, spoke to him, but then starting to mutter and turn his head again, as if irritated. The feeding tube was removed from his nose, and he settled down for a little while.

The Intravenous Drip kept blocking up, and Isaac finally gave up on that one, and made a new opening into the vein. Eyes squinting, frowning, John twisted in the bed and hit away Isaac's hands, along with the needle. Isaac swore and jabbed a needle into his upper arm instead, injecting him with as much sedative as he dared. He watched the indications of brain activity on the large screen near the bed. John should have been quite unable to make himself wake.

As soon as he seemed quiet, he fixed restraints. Again, a needle was carefully inserted into a vein, and the Drip connected. A patient couldn't survive prolonged unconsciousness without the support of something like that, even if it contained no more than a solution to combat dehydration. A further advantage was that drugs could be injected straight into the fine tube that ran into his vein, which worked a lot quicker than a jab into an arm or a buttock.

John was quiet again for a time, and Isaac breathed a sigh of relief and joined Mark in the Observation Room.

Nicki checked the drip, looked toward the Observation Room, though it was a blank wall to her eyes. "Isaac? The Drip's blocking again."

Isaac asked Mark, "Do you think he could be doing it?"

Mark looked to the technician next to him. "No indication of any abnormal pattern," said the technician.

Mark shrugged, going himself with Isaac and looking at John's face. His eyes were still closed, but there were tears on his face. _Don't do it to me, Mark!_ and he'd done it to him. Mark sighed heavily and returned to the Observation Room. Perhaps one day John would become resigned to his captivity. He thought of something. "Have you given him the REF injection?"

Isaac nodded.

Mark said, "He'll like Leanne, and it's a lot better if it's an agent than a soldier."

Isaac asked, "Private Hinch?"

"We let her transfer."

Nicki still tried to persuade the Intravenous Drip to start working.

John raised his arms, found them restrained, and screamed in his panic. He was struggling, and the restraints vanished from his arms. The side of the bed fell at his touch, and he came to his feet, looking around, trying to know what was happening. Two guards as well as Price, the male nurse, surrounded him. Nicki spoke in a gentle voice, trying to persuade him to return to bed. He always took more notice of a female voice.

Isaac indicated, and the guards and Price fell back. Isaac was foolish in some ways. He still thought that John should trust him, and now he assured John that everything was all right, that he'd just been sick for a while and that they were looking after him.

Surprised, Isaac noticed how prominent an old zigzag scar on John's forehead was. He'd scarcely noticed it before, but now it almost seemed to blaze. John cast a look around the room. Isaac and the three other men in the room fell. He looked at Nicki. She stayed very still, suddenly terrified. His gaze passed her by. He needed to be away from here. How he hated Ward 3. Observers behind the wall watched open-mouthed. John vanished in front of their eyes.

Nicki regained her senses first, her training as a nurse taking over. Quickly she checked the fallen men in Ward 3, and looked up. "They're all right, I think, like they just fainted."

At this assurance, Mark also got over his shock, and snapped at the technician. "Where is he? Check the RAB."

The answer came quickly, "At his tree."

The appropriate screen was brought up, and John was seen quite clearly, still naked, in his usual perch in his tree, a leg hooked securely around a branch. The light was not bright, but adequate, from a nearby light pole. There was a camera right next to him, cunningly hidden. Mark said quietly, "Use Option 3. Disable him."

The chief technician, Brett, picked up a pocket notebook sized device from his desk, pressed in the digits of the password, and pressed a red button. A scream rent the air and John could be seen as he jerked in the sudden agony.

"I thought it was only supposed to make him faint!" said the technician. His voice was high pitched. He'd watched John so often, though John had never met him. The scream was suddenly cut off as the camera and the microphone were destroyed by a blow from a fist.

In the tree, John was still racked by pain, but the head pain from his attacks was worse, and he was beginning to be able to think in spite of the pain that still raged. But Mark was thinking, too. If he could disappear from one spot and reappear in another, then John was uncontrollable. He looked again at Brett, and said clearly, "End it. The black button."

Brett said in a pleading tone, "No, don't kill him! What's he done to you?"

Mark held out his hand, "Give it to me."

Slowly, reluctantly, Brett handed over the device. Mark took it, pressed in the numbers, and then firmly pressed in the black button. Graph lines on screens all over the room ceased.

"What'll we do now?" said Brett bitterly. "Pick up the body for dissection, like he always said we would?"

Mark turned to an expressionless soldier, "Find him. He'll probably be at the foot of his tree. Take him to his own room."

And then he turned, and left. His voice was a touch shaky. "I'll be in my office."

_**x**_

Having destroyed the thing in his head that hurt him, and stopped the RAB straight after, John still sat in his tree, feeling dazed and ill. But the urgency allowed him no time to recover. He had somehow managed to use his magic to escape from Ward 3. He tried to do it again. To go away, it didn't matter where.

After the third attempt, he gave up. Whatever he'd done, it seemed he couldn't do it again. If only he could be a bird.

He could see the flashes of torches coming toward him. There was no time left. John melted his form into that of a hawk, and flew across the fences toward the rising sun. It was the eighteenth December.

_End of Part 2._


	22. Chapter 22

_**PART 3**_

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling__Part 3/__Chapter 1:_

It was December eighteenth. It was a while before Mark was convinced that John wasn't to be found. Hadn't he pressed the black button himself, and seen the graph lines cease? He'd done his duty, but when he thought that maybe he really had escaped, he felt a surge of hope. The last thing he wanted was to kill John. And maybe - _Should_ the graph lines have ceased? Shouldn't they just have flattened out?

He was not the only one who was hoping. The soldiers' resentment had been scarcely hidden. But as they searched, combing the Compound, and then the larger area, walking almost arm in arm, there began to be laughing and joking. There were sidelong, triumphant looks at the commanding officers as they became convinced that John, in spite of all that could be set against him, had escaped.

Film was scanned again, the area of trees where he was last known to be. The hawk was ignored at first, Mark scarcely even noticing it to begin with. On the fifth viewing, he suddenly thought that he'd never seen a hawk in that area before. Could it be? Impossible! But disappearing was impossible, too. All the same, he didn't admit to anyone else that he thought it possible that John had turned himself into a hawk and flown away.

When a larger search was mounted, with orders to shoot on sight, they teamed a B Force man with each A Force man. A Force couldn't be trusted. John's vivid personality, like the bright, bright, shirts that he wore, seemed to have permeated the whole of Facility 19.

Liaison with the State police was cautious. They couldn't say to these, 'Shoot on sight,' so they said instead that a very dangerous man was loose. That while he could appear harmless, fits of homicidal mania were frequent. No chances could be taken. Stun guns were effective, but Colonel Bedville or General Buller should be advised as quickly as possible if he was sighted or detained.

John was sighted, they thought. Or rather, a thin, naked man was sighted by two women who were walking in thick forest. The women hurried away, but rang the police as soon as they could. Most of A Force and B Force were trucked the seventy kilometres, and started combing the area. Greater manpower was considered, but it would have meant a further compromise of secrecy.

John was collapsed in exhaustion. He'd flown on and on in spite of fatigue and pain, calling on his last reserves of energy in order to get away, far away. The RAB in his arm was small, but far too large to be in the arm of a hawk flying long distances. There was an enormous black bruise on his right upper arm.

Claude from B Force was teamed with Jimmy, from A Force. The two soldiers quite suddenly spotted him, just ten feet away. He was still naked, lying on his back under a tree, legs bent as he'd collapsed. His face was turned toward them, his eyes closed. Claude aimed his rifle, Shoot on Sight were the orders. Jimmy moaned, "No."

John opened his eyes and looked at the two. He didn't move. Claude dipped the barrel of his rifle, and when he heard a shouted query, called back, "Nothing here."

Jimmy breathed a deep sigh of relief, and they moved off, rejoining the strung out line of searchers. John tried to move, but it seemed he was just too tired. He made a hole instead, with his magic, and hid himself before closing his eyes again. Searchers came close a few more times as they combed the area, but no others saw him. Claude and Jimmy didn't speak of it, even to each other, but later, off duty, Jimmy bought Claude a very large beer. Sometimes, soldiers do think for themselves.

Two days later, there was another report. It seemed that a funny man with funny clothes, had been in the grounds of a primary school, and several children had given him some of their lunches. He'd run away from home, he told them, and was very hungry.

There was nothing further.

_**x**_

Pat Howard, wife of Henry Bellamy, walked very sadly through the gardens of the estate. Everywhere she looked, it was as if she saw the ghost of her husband. She knew what had been done to him, a little over two years ago. She knew that she would never have him back as he'd been. But even as a mindless vegetable, she would have him here in his own home, and looked after as best as possible. They'd never been able to find a trace.

His daughters knew what had been done to him. Pat's merciful evasions had not outlived a newspaper report. It seemed the witch who destroyed him, wanted all of wizardry to know just what he was now.

There were Christmas lights all around, bright lights of all colours as her Henry always adored. A light sprinkling of snow. It was cold, but Pat walked further, visiting the Old Horses' Paddocks before returning to the warmth of the fire inside. The Old Horses' Paddocks had been one of Henry's favourite places.

She looked around at her daughters. Mary and Lesley lay prone on the floor in front of the fire, each of them reading a book. Susan stared at the Christmas tree, but as if she didn't quite see it. They had less than a fortnight's Christmas break from school. It was always hardest at Christmas. This would be the third Christmas without him. Pat's misery rose in her, and it seemed suddenly she couldn't stand to be here any more. She smiled brightly at her girls. "How about we go to a nice, sunny Greek Island this year for Christmas? It's too cold, here."

Mary and Lesley looked up, and Mary said, "Lovely."

Lesley asked, "Will it be hot enough for swimming?"

Susan said suddenly, strongly, _"__No__!"_

Pat looked at her in surprise. Both other girls started arguing with her, and at first, Susan looked almost as if confused at her own vehement rejection of the idea. But stubbornly she shook her head. They could go if they wanted, but she was staying in case Dad came home. Pat tried to say something, but suddenly stood and left the room. They looked after her. Mum always tried not to show when she cried. It was Lesley who explained again to Susan, quietly and reasonably, that there was no possibility of their father coming home - not by himself. That even if he was found, he would be like a baby, needing care just to be fed and kept clean. British wizardry knew about the Cha Keeyo Curse now, though it was almost unknown before it was used on their great wizard.

Pat took herself to the kitchen after a while, and returned with a tray of hot chocolate and muffins.

"Susan says she's definitely not going, Mum," said Mary.

Pat distributed drinks and muffins. She was thinking. Of her girls, her oldest daughter, Susan, had always been closest to her father, and very like him in some ways, too, though not at all in others. Henry had telepathy, also sometimes, it seemed, something more, almost a sixth sense. Could Susan have some of that sort of talent as well? "We'll stay then," she said. "Just in case we hear something."

Lesley nodded. "Katrina said she was following up something in Mexico, didn't she?" There were always rumours, and each rumour was investigated. Bellamy's wealth had decreased these last two years, as the investigations went on, interminably, and always without result.

Christmas Eve was bitterly cold. More snow fell in the morning, and the Christmas lights were dulled behind the thick air. The horses were restless, though one would have expected them to be content to stay in their warm shelters. There was a sudden chorus of barking from the dogs once, but then they quietened, although they, too, seemed restless. But it was so cold, and no humans went out unless necessary.

John was very hungry, and very, very cold. He didn't know how he'd come here. He didn't know where here was. He'd just had an overwhelming longing for home, made the magic, and he was in a different place. There was a time difference. It had been the middle of the night, and then it was dawn, but a lot colder. He wandered, exploring, making sure not to be seen. He was good, these days, at not being seen when he didn't want to be, even when he used no magic.

He was outside, and the living grass and bushes and trees helped him see. He didn't see everything though, and was acutely alarmed when he walked into a high fence. Almost frantically, he followed it until he found a wide open gateway. Walking hard, trying not to stagger too much, he left the fenced estate. Calming, he slowed and turned, looking back. After a long while, he slipped back through the gateway. There was a gate, but grass grew up around it as if it hadn't been closed in a long time. He was being silly. There were no guards, and only one fence. It mightn't even have barbed wire. He couldn't see things like that, quite often.

There were horses, lots of horses. And sheep. There were gardens and there were coloured lights, just as he'd imagined them one day. Unseen, he watched a stocky man with a bushy beard tending to the horses, and later, another man drive in and check the sheep. Two women walked past him. And still, he didn't show himself. There was no feeling of home. No-one looked the slightest bit familiar. For a while, he hid himself in a walled garden and wanted to cry. He was free, he was starving, and he didn't know what to do.

There was a party in the afternoon for the seven children of the estate, as well as the four from next door. It was held in the large indoor arena, well away from interfering parents. It was warmed with magic, and the young people became very noisy. John wasn't seen, but he watched. It gave him a great pleasure to watch the children. Some were older and two had paired off, a dark haired girl and a boy, he thought, a little older. Two boys started to argue, and then were rolling over and over on the floor, punching at each other. John thought that they must be cousins. Timothy said cousins always had fights.

The party dispersed, the leftover food was casually vanished, and it grew quiet again. It would soon be dark. Darkness fell early in the middle of winter.

Pat, inside the house, was restless. After a while, she put on a warm cape and went outside. She didn't know what she wanted to do, but maybe she'd just make sure that the indoor arena was not left in too much of a mess. Archie Barnes, the manager, saw her as she started walking. She smiled at him. "Just checking to make sure the kids are all gone home."

Archie said casually, "I'll come, too." It was nearly dark, and slippery. The boss's wife shouldn't be wandering alone.

Pat and Archie walked, Pat forgetting where she'd meant to go, and finding herself talking to one of the old horses instead. Josh was very old now. They turned to go back to the brightly lit house. The snow had stopped, and the Christmas lights shone brightly, looking like nothing but Christmas.

John spoke timidly to the tall woman. "Hello."

Pat froze, and finally whispered, "Henry!"

John didn't move, but was staring at her. "My name's John," he said, and his voice contained a plea for understanding.

Pat breathed a little. It was Henry, but she might have to be very careful. She smiled at him, very tenderly. "My name is Pat Howard. Your name is Henry Bellamy. I am your wife." She put out her hands, "Come to me."

John stayed still and spoke uncertainly, "I'm very badly damaged. You might not want me any more."

Pat still held out her arms. "I want you. Please come to me."

Still hesitant, not quite able to believe it, John took a step forward.

Pat didn't wait for any more, taking a quick stride, and hugging him, crying. "You're home. I don't know how you did it, but you're home."

After a moment, John returned the hug, and asked, "Are you really my wife?" Pat gave him another squeeze, and said that she was really his wife. He staggered when they started toward the brightly lit house.

Archie stood to the side, a grin all over his face. He'd seldom seen such outlandish clothes, and he was terribly thin and hadn't stopped trembling, but it was the boss and he was home. He didn't think he'd even been noticed. Bellamy hadn't once taken his eyes off Pat.

Suddenly practical, Pat asked, "Have you eaten today?"

John said no, not adding that he hadn't eaten for days.

Archie said, "I'll go ahead and get Kitty to organise something straight away."

Pat nodded. "In the lounge room and warn the girls not to be all over him. He's not well."

Inexplicably, John apologised and then, anxiously, "Are you sure you still want me?" She was a stranger, yet he loved her and he knew that he loved her. He felt shamed to be as he was. It was like all self confidence had deserted him.

He was ushered into a warm lounge, fire blazing brightly. The three girls stared breathlessly. John didn't quite know what to do. There was still not the slightest recognition in him, and yet the girls felt as if they should be close.

Calmly, carefully, trying not to overwhelm him, Pat said that these were his daughters. They stood side by side, slight, dark haired Susan, not quite sixteen, Lesley, taller, brown-haired, thirteen, and Mary, eleven. Then Susan stepped toward him, "Dad?" and he put out his arms and now three girls were hugging him, crying over him.

Kitty came in with her husband, Sidney. Pat's eyes were bright with tears, but she managed to say to them tomorrow, he'll see everyone tomorrow. So they just set soup and bread on the table, and reluctantly left. Archie had told them that he looked starved, and now even the girls could feel how cold and weak he seemed.

He was set in a chair, so comfortable it was as if it was made just for himself, set up with the meal, which, after the first bite, he began to eat ravenously. Pat wondered just how long it was since he'd had a proper meal. It was twenty-two days, although for most of that, he'd had a feeding tube. The girls were being very good, just sitting on the floor together, near the Christmas Tree. Lesley whispered something, and they stopped staring. John felt a little easier. He would not forget their names, and he had felt each of them, but they were strangers.

After a while, he put the unfinished meal away from him, and lay back his head in the high-backed easy chair. He was looking white and haggard still. Mary perched herself on the arm of the chair. "You don't remember us, do you?"

John opened his eyes and looked at his youngest daughter, and said simply, "I've lost a lot."

She stroked his forehead. "We'll look after you. You don't have to worry."

John smiled, "Thank you." But his head was spinning, and this time, when he lay back his head, he was in a faint.

Archie's wife, Ursula, was a nurse, and only said that it was exhaustion and he should be put to bed. John shifted slightly in his chair, turned his head more to the side, and looked very contented. Pat said calmly, "We'll let him sleep here for a while. Maybe he'll want to wake for dinner." John was warm. It was so long since he'd been warm. His family stayed near, talking quietly, very happy.

"Home for Christmas," said Lesley. "He came home for Christmas." The warmth of his family, of their love, filled him with contentment.

But John was a very badly damaged man, and there would be difficulties.

He woke before dinner, and this time, ate more, and felt more comfortable. Pat helped him shower and even shampoo his hair, shorter than when she'd seen him last. It soon became clear not only that he was weak and ill, but that his eyesight was very bad. He had great difficulty not stumbling into walls and furniture, especially when alone. Pat found a spare pair of glasses, but he declined to try them, saying that glasses made his head hurt. She wanted to have a good look at him, but he was looking yearningly toward bed, and she suspected that he'd just faint again if she delayed him too long.

Lying down, Pat beside him, he didn't sleep for a long time, stroking, touching, hardly able to believe that he could do this. It took a while, but Pat wasn't the slightest bit surprised when he asked her again if he was really his wife. A moment later, she laughed and agreed that she liked sex. Her husband had never let a little thing like being half dead stop him from his greatest enjoyment.

In the morning, when he asked, Pat found him a razor in order to shave. Wizards almost always lost their magic when sick, and it could hardly be expected that Bellamy could keep his magic after being subject to the Cha Keeyo Curse, not once, but three times. It was a miracle that he could walk and talk.

He shaved carefully, but left a cut. He was accustomed to an electric shaver now. He used no magic, not even to heal the small cut. He had a great fear that if he showed any magic at all, he would somehow be locked up again. He couldn't feel any cameras, and no-one carried stun guns. He still feared.

When he dressed, he declined the red jumper that Pat laid out for him and found himself a dull green one instead.

At breakfast, Kitty served him with at least twice a normal breakfast, said that her name was Kitty Bourne, and that it was very good to have the boss back. John looked at Pat, "I'm the boss?"

Pat laughed and nodded. "You're the boss."

John grinned at Kitty and asked for a bowl of ice-cream. To his surprise, this earned him a hug from Kitty, who hurried away, tears on her face.

Pat said in a matter-of-fact tone, "All the staff care about you a great deal. I think you should meet them all before dinner."

John nodded, a bit dazed. He said nothing of where he'd been for the last two years, and nothing of how he'd managed to find his way home. Pat didn't press. They just allowed him to be quiet in his chair as Santa presents were displayed, and then the presents under the tree were opened. Susan was thrilled with her new set of dress robes, and Lesley and Mary had sets, too. They paraded in front of their father, who told them how absolutely beautiful they looked, just like a father was supposed to.

Pat spoke to Kitty. Any of the staff who hadn't gone away would be assembling in the staff dining room at eleven. They always did this, every year. The midday Christmas dinner was always there, too, both for the family and for the staff, some of whom were family, too, if rather distantly related. But Bellamy was fragile, Pat thought, and without consulting him, Pat arranged that this year, the immediate family would dine separately, though Bellamy would come to see them all at eleven, when they gathered. "He doesn't remember _anything _of us," she emphasised. "Tell them not to embarrass him, we'll just introduce everyone as if they're strangers."

Kitty nodded. As if they were strangers, though she felt a hurt at the thought.

John put on a calm face when he went to meet his staff and their families. He was acutely uncomfortable. They all knew him, and he didn't know them. But he concentrated, and made sure to remember names, even the children. He was soaking up everything he was told, unwilling to betray how little he knew, how little was in his remembered experience.

There was a very old lady, Clare Dearborn. Gabrielle was attentive, and Clare was obviously very well looked after. She grunted at John, "Back from the wars again. You've done this to us before, vanishing for years at a time, then reappearing, usually without the slightest apology."

John stared, and then laughed. "Sorry, Clare," he said. "I did try, but it was a bit difficult to get away this time."

Margaret Barnes suddenly recognised her boss in the changed expression, and he was hugged, fiercely.

Her example was followed by others, and after the first moments, John relaxed, and accepted the hugs and the thumps on the back, smiling, pleased. He may not have recognised them, but their feeling was sincere. If he worked very hard, maybe, after a while, he could pretend that he knew everything that he was supposed to know.

***chapter end***


	23. Chapter 23

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/__Chapter 2:_

Pat took a great deal of care with her husband. She didn't know where he'd been, but she understood that it was as he said, he was very badly damaged. By Boxing Day, he was no longer staggering, and no longer stumbled into furniture unless she moved something. He even looked less thin.

In the morning, she stopped him before he dressed after his shower. He was uncomfortable when she said she wanted to look at him, but did as she asked. There was a tender area on his head, there was severe bruising still on his arm, although beginning to yellow now, and there were new scars on his legs. She gave her opinion. "They're gunshot wounds."

John nodded. "I was very silly one day, and got myself shot."

Pat said very quietly, "What sort of an institution shoots their patients?"

John looked uncomfortable and didn't answer.

She looked at his right wrist a long time, but when she asked about the extra scarring, he said it was nothing, and asked if she was finished yet.

Her gaze was troubled as she watched him shave. She finally asked him if he'd lost his magic.

John froze. He hadn't happened to see any of the witches and wizards all around him use their wands, and he turned to her. "Magic?" he asked.

"You know you're a wizard," Pat said. "You always used to shave with just magic."

John put his head slightly to the side as if listening to the air. There were no cameras, no guards, and this was his wife. Hesitantly, in an act of trust she would not quite comprehend, he put down his razor, and passed his hands over his cheeks and they were smooth.

Pat smiled and asked, "Why didn't you do that before?" But John wouldn't say.

A weak sun shone that day, and John spent most of the day outdoors. To his absolute surprise and gratitude, he was left alone to wander as he chose. His aloneness seemed almost like a brand new experience, though he'd been very alone in the six days between escaping his prison and finding his wife. There had even been a day and a night when the pain had struck, and no-one but himself had known.

That day, he noticed Archie casually use a wand to muck out stables, though Victor was organising horse feeds nearby. But Victor never blinked. Here, it seemed, magic was normal. Later, Peter was giving lessons in magic to three of the four boys who lived here, plus his own three daughters. John watched very carefully.

Young Oliver Barnes sat on the seat beside him. "I can't work magic," he said, as if casually. "Can you still work magic?"

John spoke too, as if casually. "I got into a lot of trouble for using magic. They locked me up and wouldn't let me go."

Oliver had been raised in the midst of wizardry and knew the rules. "Did you work magic in front of Medjkind?" he asked, worried.

John frowned. "Medjkind?"

Oliver looked at him, surprised. Didn't the boss know what Medjkind was? But they all knew. He was supposed to have been brain damaged by a curse and he couldn't remember anything. They had to be very careful not to hurt his feelings when he didn't know things. So Oliver explained. "Medjkind are ordinary people, not witches or wizards like most of us here. If you worked magic in front of Medjkind, it's serious, and you have to tell somebody."

John was very worried, and stayed quiet and tense, before asking the boy beside him, "Will they lock me up again for doing the wrong thing?"

Oliver suggested they ask his Dad. John was thinking in a panic that maybe he should run away before they closed the gate and surrounded him with guards. All his life, he'd been a prisoner with guards all around. Susan looked at her father and suddenly left the group, slipping onto the seat beside him, warming his side.

Oliver asked Susan. "Do they lock you up if you work magic in front of Medjkind?"

Susan felt her father's tension, and said calmly, "No, but the Ministry might modify their memories if they think it necessary." She put her arm around her father. "But we'll have to tell Mum." She still felt his worry. She squeezed him. "Afterwards, we can go for a ride if you like."

John relaxed at the offer, and turned to look at the horses in a paddock not far away. "I'll need a small, quiet one for a day or two. I'm not strong enough yet to ride a fast one." He spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, accepting it as perfectly normal that he was quite often too ill to ride far and fast.

"Come on," Susan said. "We'll have to see Mum."

Oliver stood too. Oliver, also, had seen the tension of the boss. "Can I come riding, too? If I saddle the ponies?"

Susan asked, "Dad?"

John laughed. "I mostly get told, not asked." But he smiled at Oliver. "I'll be glad of your company."

Susan said, "One of the ponies for Dad this time."

Oliver said, "Yes, Boss."

John was tense again when Susan took him to find Pat. Pat listened carefully as John hesitantly told her that it was not an ordinary institution, but a prison, because he was seen shaving without a razor when he was ill.

"Anything else?" she asked in a matter-of-fact tone.

Susan put in, "Dad's worried they'll lock him up again."

Pat said nonsense, no-one was going to lock him up.

John looked at the window. "There's high fences all around."

Pat said calmly, "Well, you're the boss. The fences are to keep potential enemies out, but if you want, you can order them torn down."

John was delighted. "I can order the fences torn down?"

Pat laughed. "For security's sake, I'd prefer you just order more gateways if you want. Today, if you want." But then she went to him and put her hands on his shoulders, looking at him intently. "What else did you do?"

John reddened. "I tried very hard not to show anything on camera. I didn't know what it was, and it took a long time to make it work right. Even now, I can't do it every time. But when I left, I disappeared from the room, and I made two guards and two others faint, and that would definitely be on camera."

Pat was looking closely at him. "On camera?" she asked, in the end.

John just nodded.

Pat frowned. This was looking more and more serious. "And there were guards."

John nodded again.

"How many prisoners?" she asked finally.

"Just me. At first they said it was just a research hospital, but it was a prison."

Pat took a deep breath, and said, "A man called Dieter Roche is head of the Auror Department. That's like police for wizards." She was already learning that John was unlikely to ask, and yet he knew so little. "Dieter has been your friend for many years. He'll fix it. Meantime, you go and tell Archie you want more gateways, or the fences torn down, whichever you choose."

John breathed a sigh of relief. If he was allowed to have the fences torn down, it made it as if they were not so threatening.

Susan said, "We're going for a ride afterward, not too far, me and Dad and Oliver. But we'll find Archie first." Susan had a considerable sensitivity, and hadn't missed the worries of her father.

The gateways were ordered, no gates, and while Archie looked curiously at John, he nodded and said straightaway, only saying that they'd need gates on the two sides of the property that adjoined neighbouring properties.

"No locks, then," said John.

Archie nodded. No locks, and maybe he could only have low gates, easily climbed, or even a stile. Archie had come to his own conclusions. Someone had managed to keep the boss in a prison.

Oliver had three ponies waiting, saddled. John was talking to them, caressing and hugging, smiling now all over his face. Susan was taking her cue from her mother. Don't assume any knowledge at all, just explain as if it's normal to explain. "They're from Andalusian mares and pony stallions. We used to ride them in gymkhanas sometimes when we were younger."

"I still do," put in Oliver.

Susan nodded. "Oliver goes to the local medj school, Ryan and Ross are only ten, and they go to Helena. But the rest of us go to boarding school, where we learn magic." She smiled at her father. "It was an incredible achievement to master magic when you didn't even know it existed."

John was uncomfortable again. He didn't think he'd ever get used to talking about the magic as if it was commonplace.

Susan asked if he'd like to go to Paul and Helena's place next door, and see the mares and foals. John was daunted at the thought of meeting yet more people who knew him well, and whom he didn't know at all. But all the same, he felt a release of some tension as he rode out through the gate. Further up the fence, he saw Archie, consulting with Peter.

"They'll probably have done it for you by the time you get back," said Susan.

John laughed. "It's wonderful to be the boss!"

Oliver said proudly, "My family has worked for you for four generations, and I'll be the fifth."

John couldn't work this out, but nodded as if he knew. It must have been his ancestors, he assumed, but he couldn't ask questions all the time. This time, Susan didn't explain, and neither did Oliver.

Paul hugged him when he slipped off the pony, looked at him with disbelieving eyes, and then pulled him close and hugged him again. "We thought you'd never come back. You were supposed to be destroyed!"

John looked at him, troubled. He didn't know what he was talking about. He didn't ask, and Paul only pulled him with him to show him the mares and foals, and spoke at length about the Line of Sheba stud. John caressed a filly that Paul led up to him. "I've heard of the stud," he said. "I rode a mare called Naji, and they said she was a Line of Sheba mare."

Paul searched his memory. "Black, with touches of white? I'll show you her dam if you like."

John grinned at him in utter delight. "She was really bred here?"

But when he started walking again, he staggered, and Paul said, "How about another time. You don't look well enough."

John shook his head. "Now please! I loved Naji, and I'd really like to see her dam."

Susan said sensibly, "Hop on the pony then. You can ride instead of walking, but we'd best go back straight afterward."

The mare was showing her age, but had a black colt running beside her. Paul had become quieter. Bellamy wasn't right, and didn't even know that he had anything to do with Paul's horses. He was a long way from being a vegetable, though.

In the early afternoon, Dieter arrived at Bellamy's place. They had to try and fix the damage but needed a lot more information first. Bruce was with him. Bruce was in his early forties, was too large around the middle, but was highly respected for his brilliant mind. From the sound of it, fixing the problems that Bellamy had left was going to be a big job.

Pat greeted them, but peeped into the loungeroom where Bellamy was asleep in a chair, and took them first to the library, where she could talk frankly. "He says he's very badly damaged. He says he's a hollow man, just a shell. I haven't told him yet what was done to him."

"I don't think there's ever any need to tell him about the rape," Bruce said.

"It wasn't in the newspaper report, so I think that's best never mentioned again."

"No matter what the problems he might have made, it's a miracle that he's come back. Only Bellamy could have survived."

Pat cautioned, "You have to be very careful with him. From his point of view, he knows no other life than being a prisoner, and I think he has a great fear within him that he'll be locked up again."

Dieter asked, "He must have been very badly hurt if they managed to keep him a prisoner!"

Pat said, "He didn't know magic existed. He didn't know wizardry existed. He hasn't said, but maybe he was physically sick, too, especially at the start."

"Does he know he's not just an ordinary wizard?"

Pat shook her head. "He must have been terribly, terribly lonely, I think. But now he's among us, and he thinks he's one of many. Let's not put the burden on him of still being something different, a mutation as Bryce calls it. Not yet."

Bruce said, "How old does he think he is?"

"He hasn't referred to it. He stays very quiet, doesn't ask questions, and doesn't miss a word or a clue that people give him."

Lesley crept into the loungeroom to find a book she'd been reading. Susan, too, peeped in. "He's not looking too worried," she said.

Mary asked, "Is there a reason to be worried?"

Susan said, "From what I heard, the first thing was minor, and the other things were trying to escape, and surely they'll accept that as justified. Anyway, he was sick and can't be blamed."

Ten minutes later, very gently, Pat roused her husband. "Dieter and Bruce are here. They need to know more about the prison you were in."

John stared at her, worried. But then shook himself, muttered something about just freshening up, and Pat said, "When you're ready, just join us in the library."

John washed his face, feeling still tired. Given half a chance, it wouldn't take long, and he'd be reasonably fit again. He knew where the library was, as he'd been exploring. Even Pat didn't seem to quite comprehend that his own home was unfamiliar to him.

The last time that Dieter had seen Bellamy was as he was being attacked, again and again, by memory modification spells, by stun spells, and by the terrible Cha Keeyo Curse. And it was unfortunate that when John turned into the room, he saw Dieter's image of him screaming and writhing on the floor.

He flinched, and stopped dead. Dieter had a lot of self-control, and thought he should not be over familiar with his old friend who could no longer remember him. He was courteous and friendly, but not over familiar, and Bruce took his cue from him. There were none of the hugs and outpourings of emotions that had broken the ice when John renewed his acquaintance with his family and his staff. Instead, businesslike, he started his questioning. John, after that first jolt, wore a cool mask. He could tell them where it was, near Hallsville, though he'd never seen the town, and he gave the state.

Bruce and Dieter stared. "America?"

Dieter asked, "How did you get here, then?"

John didn't answer. He didn't quite know.

"How long ago did you escape?"

John could answer that, "About a week ago."

Dieter glanced at Bruce, and they questioned him some more about the prison. John still wore his expressionless mask and leaned against the wall in a casual attitude. Dieter was hurt. He was not an enemy and Bellamy treated him as an enemy.

John's answers were monosyllabic, but things were beginning to sound worse and worse. Army. Cameras, everywhere. Guards.

Pat mentioned, "He has scars from gunshot wounds on his legs."

Dieter began to feel a considerable anger, not at Bellamy, but at those who had imprisoned his friend.

John felt his anger and misunderstood. He'd done his best, he thought. His face showed nothing.

For the Ministry officials, it was obvious that far too many medj now had proof that magic existed. It may not be possible to modify all memories, or remove all evidence, but they would do what they could.

Dieter thanked Bellamy for his cooperation, and suddenly guessed at his concern. He said, quite gently, "No-one blames you. You're not in trouble, and we're all very, very glad you're back."

John's cold mask wavered. "Is it all right? I'm not in trouble?"

Pat rose and went to his side. "Trust us. We're on your side."

John laughed suddenly, but it was not with humour. Isaac used to tell him to trust him, and look what he'd done. First there was the RAB and then there was something else that caused him pain in his head. But all the same, mostly, they'd been good to him. Mark had been convinced that he was doing the right thing, and he said hesitantly, "You're not going to hurt them, are you?"

Dieter glanced at Bruce. "Probably just modify some memories, and remove or destroy all the film we can lay our hands on."

John nodded, satisfied, though he didn't think that modifying memories sounded quite ethical. Dieter and Bruce were impressive men, with an aura of power. They wore black, badged, scarlet edged capes that swung around them. They must know what they were doing.

Pat suggested afternoon tea, but Dieter said that they wouldn't waste time. Pat and her damaged husband followed the pair outside, and watched them as they strode across the estate, came to a particular area, and vanished. "It's called apparation," said Pat, giving him the information he needed, and wasn't asking for. "One disapparates from one place, and re-apparates to another an instant later. You should never attempt it if you're sick or tired or drunk, or if you don't know what you're doing."

John smiled at his wife. "I didn't know what I was doing, and somehow I found you."

Pat squeezed him, and said with a break in her voice, "It's a miracle, and I'm so, so grateful that you made it back to me."

John kissed her, and there was an expression on his face that made Susan, watching, suddenly blush and look away. Pat knew the expression well, and said reprovingly, "Later."

John smiled, "I was only thinking of afternoon tea."

Pat laughed, but gave him afternoon tea. She'd seen him before when he was like this, he lost weight so quickly, and would then be ravenously hungry until he was less thin. Even at the peak of fitness, he always seemed just a bit thin.

She tried to question him further about his prison, but he wasn't telling her much.

"They treated me very well," he said, "Even let me ride horses, though on a lead, of course."

It didn't sound to Pat as if he'd been well treated. There were those wounds on his legs, and while he hadn't told her what had precipitated his use of magic to finally escape, she had a feeling it was not because he didn't fancy his dinner! But he was beginning to assume that cool face again, and she stopped questioning. Like Dieter, she knew it meant discomfort, sometimes distrust, even fear. He was her husband, and he must be made to feel comfortable in his home again.

He went outside afterward, though the light was already beginning to fade. But Pat wouldn't put even a suggestion of constraint on him now. He'd always liked being outdoors, but now it seemed as if he needed it more than before. He whistled up a pony, and walked on him right around the perimeter track, very pleased at the new gateways that Archie and Peter had let into the fence. Riding always helped him see, even in the half dark. Having the high fence punched full of holes was a tremendous satisfaction to him.

He was in the walled garden when he knew the pain was about to strike. He hid, stumbling to a heavy cement garden seat, and falling behind it as the pain took him. It lasted many hours. After his initial cry of protest and pain, he was silent, even when the door was opened and anxious voices called for him.

The searchers checked the garden again, much later, but by then the pain had given way to the faint, almost a coma, that always followed the pain. Snow fell, and John was whitened, becoming part of the garden. Even when torches were flashed around, he was not seen. Pat thought he'd gone, upset by the interrogation, and maybe also by her own questions. She wouldn't ask him any questions again that he didn't like - if he ever came back.

When John woke, it was late in the night, and he was so cold he wondered that he wasn't dead. Shakily, he pulled himself to his feet, thinking that, after all, Isaac's care had something to say for it.

He made it so that no-one would notice him as he slipped past searchers into the house, stripped off his wet clothes, and carefully lowered himself into the hot water of the spa. Pat found him there a half hour later, leaning his head back against the head rest and looking very weary. She thought that he might have started to leave her, and had then changed his mind and returned. She bit her tongue, didn't point out to him the acute anxiety of his family and friends, or her own almost hysterical relief, only brought him a warm dressing gown, and organised him something to eat, as he'd missed dinner.

That night, as he had the previous two nights, he stayed very close to her as she slept, always with some part of his body in contact. For a long time, Pat held him. She thought she'd nearly lost him, so short a time after he returned to her. She must be so careful, not asking questions he was uncomfortable with, not putting the least constraint on him, so that he'd feel himself free enough to have confidence in them. He said it himself, he was badly damaged, and Pat thought it wasn't all because of what Riza Khatabi had done to him.

***chapter end***


	24. Chapter 24

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/__Chapter 3:_

Twenty-seventh December. John was slow to wake, and staggered a little when he did get up, the after-effects of his illness the previous day. He was briefly alarmed when he found himself alone. Where was Pat? But he felt with his mind, knew she was close, and was reassured. She must have known him when he was strong and well. She still seemed to want him, but she didn't know how sickly he was. He was almost succeeding in hiding his poor vision from her now, remembering where things were, so that he didn't walk into them. And, of course, there were always those times when he could see quite well. The fact that he himself was often in view when the clear pictures came to him didn't disturb him. It was all he knew. That was the way that he saw.

Pat was in the secretary's office, starting to prepare a small announcement for the wizarding newspaper that Bellamy was found, but changing her mind. It would be best if Bellamy's return be kept quiet for the time being. She didn't want to alert potential enemies. He could not be expected to be able to defend himself as he was now. Even within the Ministry, his return was kept quiet, though there was celebration amongst those who knew, even in spite of the urgent activity his return had given rise to.

Meantime, John presented himself in the family dining room, and when he saw the indications that the rest of the family had already gone, found his way to the kitchen and ate there, served by young Louise. A cat perched on a high shelf and surveyed the large area, making it easy for him to see.

"Susan's sixteen today," said Louise. "Dad was telling me how you raved over her when she was a baby, and everyone had to say that she was the most beautiful baby in the world."

John laughed. "So she was! But then, _every _baby is the most beautiful baby in the world."

"And you took her into the Ministry one day, and held everyone up as you visited every single department and had her admired."

John shook his head. "And now I don't even have a birthday present for the poor girl."

"You've got stuff in the store-room. How about we go there and I'll help you find something?"

"Would there be things suitable?"

"Well, it's all stuff you own, often sent back from foreign countries, and there's all sorts. Aunt Kitty showed me one day."

He staggered again as he rose from the table, and Louise noticed that he was pale still. But he was very cheerful, and was obviously loving exploring the shelves of goods, everything from long outgrown baby cradles, to untouched jewellery, sent back from Morocco. He finally selected a dainty tiara, which Louise said would be perfect for formal occasions.

Mary and Lesley found them there and volunteered to wrap his present. Mary looked at him thoughtfully, and went deeper into a second room.

"You need a wand," she told him. "It's the custom to use a wand when you work magic." She handed him a wand. "It's a spare, since you lost your own, but one day you can buy a new one, properly matched as wands should be."

Bellamy took the wand, studying it, and asked, "I lost my own?"

"When the witch cursed you and then you disappeared, and they never found your wand."

John said nothing. Was that why he'd lost so much? He'd been cursed?

Lesley said, "Susan's outside, if you want to give her your present," and John tucked away the new information for later consideration, thanked Louise for her help, and went off with his two younger daughters.

Pat and Susan leaned on the fence that surrounded a horse paddock, the one with the riding horses. Pat said, "Badham's a bit old for him, now, and anyway, Margaret rides him. And Victor's claimed Tattler. I think we should ask Paul what he's got at the same time you choose your new horse this afternoon."

Susan was thrilled with her gift. It was not so much that the tiara was nice, but that her father was still so thin and weak, and yet he'd gone to the trouble of finding her something. John was embarrassed when she overwhelmed him with her thanks, and Pat touched her shoulder and shook her head.

John looked at Pat, troubled, then. "It was all right, wasn't it? Louise said the things in the store-room were mine to do with as I pleased."

Pat smiled gently at him. "It was all right. Even before I married you, you used to pick up things sometimes and send them home for later use as gifts."

John relaxed. He was frightened of doing the wrong thing. Surely Pat was too wonderful to want him if he did the wrong thing.

Pat coaxed him to rest for a while, as he'd need his energy if he wanted to go with them to Paul's place for Susan's new horse, and maybe for one for himself. He smiled at her delightedly. The ponies were all right when he was sick, but a bit small.

Susan took a long time to make up her mind which horse she wanted. She was torn between a showy, dapple grey Andalusian, and a jet black gelding that Paul said was extremely fast. She tried them both, a second time.

Pat didn't hurry her. Pat was standing next to her Henry, an arm around his waist. John thought there could scarcely be a greater happiness than to be cuddled by a wife.

It was a major expedition, most of the Barnes were there, Archie, his son Peter, reliable and loyal, and his vivid, redheaded daughter, Margaret, now twenty-four. The four boys were there, Peter's son Oliver, and the three belonging to Kitty and Sidney. Victor, too, who looked after the horses. The Pickerings, of course, Paul, Helena, and son Marcus, whom John remembered had been at the party, paired off with Susan. John made very sure to know who each of them were. He wanted people to forget that he couldn't remember anything of his previous life, and he thought that they might be beginning to forget a little.

Susan finally made up her mind. "Sirius, please," she said. "Fast is better than showy."

Peter said, "Sirius is showy, too. I bet he'd bring home a few ribbons for you if you showed him."

Susan shook her head. "He _is _goodlooking, but I'm not interested in showing."

Paul was pleased she'd stopped dithering. He'd been impatient, but now it was time to bring out the special horse he thought would please the boss. And he turned around slowly for effect, and spoke impressively.

John was getting used to being called Bellamy or Boss, though Pat always called him Henry. He supposed one day he might feel like he was the Bellamy they all had known, but he thought of himself as John, the prisoner, but free now.

"He was to be used as a stallion," said Paul. "Even stood for a while, but there were too few of our own mares for him without inbreeding, and outsiders always took one look at him, and rejected him. Anyway, it seemed he was dissatisfied, let himself out of the perfectly secure enclosure, and was found a fortnight later in a paddock with a dozen hunters belonging to Lord Lockwood, including five mares, four of them now in foal. Anyway, we had to geld him. But he's a character, and I'm so pleased you came back, as he's just right for you."

Marcus put in, "He's called God Wot with a question mark, except that when he was being used for stud, we called him Reilley to the customers."

John had a grin all over his face. The horse was an escape artist.

Marcus said, "He looks a bit weird, but Dad reckons you won't mind that."

Paul nodded. "Your choice. They're all yours, remember, though I get the majority of the profits from the stud, the horses actually belong to you."

John looked at him, very surprised. He owned the Line of Sheba stud? Pat squeezed him, still with her arm around his waist and confirmed it for him, knowing that he probably wouldn't ask. "You own the stud, help make decisions sometimes, but Paul does all the day to day management."

But then she turned and watched as Marcus led a beautifully groomed glossy chestnut gelding past them. Marcus turned, and a white horse whickered at John, but was spoken to and obediently followed Marcus. And then Marcus brought the horse straight to him, and a bi-coloured head nuzzled him. The gelding had a broad blaze, and two white areas encircled both eyes, giving him a permanently startled look. They were all looking at the horse, and Bellamy saw perfectly. He started to laugh, and when Pat let him go, hugged the horse, feeling him, knowing him.

Marcus was grinning. "Saddle him for you?"

John shook his head, "I won't bother with a saddle."

Five minutes later, he was cantering the haltered horse around the paddock, and then laughing with an uttermost joy as the horse reared and plunged, and bucked, playing with him, as Naji used to play sometimes. He didn't do it long - it would have to wait until he was stronger. But he already loved his wonderful new horse.

While his escaped prisoner played with a new horse, Colonel Mark Bedville was beginning to be very confused. His visitors could not be denied, they carried with them such an air of power, looked impressive, and their identification and authorities were obviously totally genuine. He hadn't even needed to make any phone calls to check. He showed the three men and two women over the facility, explained the security arrangements, including RAB, and the large Surveillance Room, but at the last minute, decided not to mention Option 3 or the decision he'd taken at the last.

Another two dozen men and women stood around, and even these carried with them that same air of assured power. When the Colonel showed his visitors Ward 3, and took them into the observation room with its screens, now blank, he found the eyes of one of the women on him, and shivered in sudden fear. Nervously, he said, "We looked after him very well whenever he was sick, of course. Doctor Berg came to know how to handle him very well."

A cold pair of eyes regarded him, "Doctor Berg?"

He nodded. "Doctor Isaac Berg. John would never have lived without Isaac."

"Bring him in for us," the leader ordered.

Mark hesitated, and Bruce wondered if they'd have to take more severe measures. There was too much to know. The Colonel and the healer would have to be taken back with them. Instructions were given. Two dozen witches and wizards started talking to the soldiers, all of them, kitchen staff, gardeners and guards, some of whom again patrolled the fence, although the one prisoner was gone. There were still guards on the gates as well, to prevent unauthorised entry.

Mark watched in confusion, but was no match for the witch who had him under her command. When Isaac appeared, they didn't bother with pretence. "Dr. Berg and Colonel Bedville, you're coming with us," said the auror. "You are prisoners until we know everything we need to know."

"Then what?" asked Isaac, his voice shaking.

A woman said very coldly, "We'll decide _then what_ when we know exactly how you treated our Bellamy."

Bedville managed at last to throw off the command that held him, and shouted. A wand flashed, and he was silent and helpless. He suddenly realised he was copying John. When John was afraid, he always assumed an expressionless mask. But then John mostly betrayed himself by trembling. At least, Mark thought, I'm not trembling. But he was very afraid.

Bruce nodded at the soldiers. "They're having their memories modified. It doesn't hurt them at all, just that they won't remember the existence of the prisoner. Shortly, they'll help us load all the film of Bellamy that you have here, and we'll take it away."

Bedville was tense, his eyes flicking over his soldiers, every one of whom seemed to be cooperating fully with the visitors.

Bruce said calmly, "You cannot deny us. We can make you tell us exactly what we want to know."

Bedville's mind was screaming, _What are you? _but his voice was still silenced.

Bruce answered anyway. "We are Anirage, Wizardkind in other words. It was a wizard whom you held captive, but Bellamy is now safe home with his wife and family."

Isaac smiled, "He's safe?" Mark's expression, too, had changed at the words.

Bruce watched them closely as he confirmed, "He's safe."

Isaac could still talk, although a wand was pointed at him in threat. "The amnesia was a sham, then?"

Bruce answered. "The amnesia, unfortunately, is not a sham. He hasn't seen a healer yet, but given what was done to him, it's certain that it's permanent. On the other hand, he should have been a mindless vegetable, and he's quite obviously not."

Isaac's curiosity was taking over, so that he was forgetting to be afraid. "What was done to him?" he said eagerly.

Bruce turned his back, indifferent, leaving him in the care of the auror who held his arm, quite casually. They were only medj, not the slightest bit dangerous to a wizard with a wand. But they needed to make thorough investigations. Their absence would be explained in a way that satisfied those who cared, and their return, if they were allowed to return, would also be explained. But they had kept their Bellamy captive, had even possibly hurt him. They knew about the gunshot wounds on his legs, and they could see the forbidding high fences topped with barbed wire.

Over the next days, Isaac and Mark were questioned in a great deal of detail. Mark, with a scant glance at Isaac, didn't mention Option 3, and the film of the careful operation that had implanted CUZ in John's brain, had been destroyed, straight afterward. It was not just top secret - according to the records, it never happened. Otherwise, Mark was cooperative, and Isaac followed his lead. The wizards could make them answer questions, but as long as they were receiving voluntary cooperation, they didn't use that capability.

Mark thought they were in deep trouble, left alone in prison cells every night, and questioned daily, as more and more film was run. But Isaac was more optimistic. They were not treated harshly, they shared adjoining cells, and were occasionally allowed to see other prisoners, though they weren't sure that was a privilege after a wizard sneered at them as 'Pathetic muggles!' They were beginning to be more familiar with the wizarding world, and knew that many of them wore their hair very long, as John had, and many had long beards, as well. They wore capes except when with normal people, and some wore full robes as a matter of course. The one in charge of the prison was always rather elaborately dressed. It was a different culture, although overlapping in many respects.

On the second of January, Healer Bryce McKenzie was brought in to watch the film of Bellamy when ill. Isaac forgot their status as prisoners, as the healer and the medj doctor became very deeply involved in discussion. For days, Isaac had tried to question his interrogators, but received little information. But now Bryce was answering his questions, and they learned for the first time that John was not just a wizard, but that he had been 'the great wizard,' unique, a mutation. Mark watched with some amusement as Isaac and the excitable wizard healer chattered and laughed and marvelled.

"How old did you reckon he was?" Bryce said at one stage.

"About twenty-four was my guess," answered Isaac. "It was not only his looks, but the way he played, like an exuberant boy."

"Well," started Bryce, "You'll be surprised ..."

"Bryce!" said a warning voice. But another said, "They'll have their memories modified anyway, it won't hurt for them to know."

Isaac was upset. "But I don't want to forget! This is fascinating!"

A cold voice said, "You'll be lucky if that's all that happens. The way you behaved was ethical neither for wizard nor medj."

Isaac flushed and was silent, suddenly remembering the dressing that was put over a cut on John's leg. But there was no record of that either, except their own memories.

Bryce wasn't willing to lose his audience, and continued impressively, "He's a hundred and sixty-seven years old!" Isaac and Mark both forgot their status as prisoners at that remarkable statement, and demanded more information.

On the second of January, John still didn't know how old he was, but seemed to be more comfortable with them all every day, to Pat's relief. And at the same time as Bryce was finding a kindred spirit in Isaac, he and Susan were on their horses and racing around the perimeter track. They were very evenly matched. God Wot? was a bit stronger and had more endurance, and Sirius was faster over a short distance.

Pat and Margaret were together, watching. "I'm going to ask Susan if I can ride Sirius when she goes back to school," said Margaret. "Badham's good, but look at the black go!" And then she continued casually, giving herself the excuse that it was the Barnes family tradition to look after Bellamy, "I'm surprised you haven't brought in a healer to see him..." There was a touch of a question in her voice.

Pat frowned. "You know he always hated medical examinations, now he just refuses. Says healers can never be trusted, you don't know what they'll do to you."

Margaret looked fully at Pat, "Why?..."

"He won't tell me why, but it has to be something they did to him at that place."

Margaret was thoughtful. Pat was close to Margaret, although they seemed such different people, and Pat was beginning to think she needed another opinion, and asked Margaret, "Just how bad do you think his eyesight is? I think he tries to hide it from me."

"I think he tries to hide it from all of us. He seems to see perfectly when he rides, but he walked straight into a gatepost just yesterday."

Pat said, "At least he's not clearing out again. I was so frightened he'd never come back when he did that Boxing Day."

Margaret smiled at her. "He loves you. You can see it."

Margaret almost felt Pat relax. "I don't understand it. He doesn't remember me, not at all, and yet he found his way here when he didn't even know he had a wife. And I do believe it, he loves me."

The following day, Luke Bourne and the Bellamy girls left to return to their school, their families watching as they piled into a bus driven by Victor. "Ross and me'll be going in September," said Ryan, proudly, and then glanced at where Oliver stood, a little way away, his expression unreadable. "But Oliver Barnes just goes to medj school."

Now the children were out of the way, the staff resumed almost daily Defence Practice, spells such as those that froze an opponent so that they were rendered helpless, or stunned them or silenced them, or tied them up. They mostly practised on sheep - fat and pampered sheep. A few of the sheep almost seemed to volunteer, trotting up happily for the reward they invariably received afterward. Usually, Archie was the tutor, or sometimes Peter or Margaret, both of whom had done some training with the aurors.

John watched closely, and didn't participate. He didn't want to use magic when he always had to pay for it, and if he was seen to collapse, Pat would know he didn't deserve her.

It was important that Bellamy be protected, and now there were hopes that he would, one day, be again able to break spells that no-one else could break. There were the Stonehouse sisters, of course, and they could cope with quite a few of the patients that the mediwizards failed. But there was no-one like Bellamy.

The Stonehouses had failed with those patients in Italy whom Riza Khatabi had cursed. Sixty-five witches and wizards, many of them children, had been attacked simply in order to have the great wizard brought to Italy, in order to become the witch's victim himself. She hadn't been merciful either, and more than half of those sixty-five victims were sadly crippled. Still no-one told John that he was anything special, and he didn't know that his defence was the reason that young Louise Stackpole was striving to master tying up. The sheep didn't like that one, but neither did the humans. It was mostly practised on sheep.

John rapidly gained strength, though it would take a lot longer than a few weeks to regain lost weight. There was only one episode of the head pain in that time, when he was beside Pat in bed one night. But Pat was asleep, and never knew how he bit into the pillow to keep from crying out, and his fingers clutched the sheets in his agony. It was short, and the faint afterward merged into sleep. He was a touch shaky in the morning, but grateful that he still managed to hide his malady from his wife.

He was soon easy with his staff, and would have liked to spend more time with the old lady, Clare. But Clare was an artist, and when painting, had no time to waste on talking to mere humans.

Margaret Barnes became a frequent companion, joining him when he rode, usually on the nearby moors where they could gallop, but sometimes exploring tracks that led through forests and crossed farmland. Once Margaret showed him the tiny local village, where Alison, the secretary lived. "She only comes in for the day," Margaret said. "Always has. Says she prefers it that way."

Oliver was often with him when not at school. It was through Oliver's talk that he began to realise that he might not, after all, be just another wizard. But at first he thrust that thought away, almost in panic. He'd had enough of being 'the Martian.' The twins, Ross and Ryan, were also frequent companions. They talked a lot about going to Hogwarts, like Luke and like the girls.

"Other people our age don't even get a wand until just before they go to school," boasted Ross one day. "But we learn magic early here, in case we need to fight."

John wondered why they would need to fight, and didn't ask.

He looked in the workshop where he used to invent sometimes, but turned away. That was gone now he couldn't see properly. There was a day when he wandered in the library, touching the books. Pat saw him there, but slipped away. John had a pair of his old glasses with him, but felt the air to make sure that no-one watched before trying them on. There was that immediate stab of pain, but John wanted to be able to read, and this time he persevered until he found himself on the floor, staring at the ceiling. No-one saw. He put away the glasses, and decided to enjoy what he could enjoy. He was free, he was surrounded by friends, and there were many things he could do. Swim, walk, ride. There was even a gymnasium.

Pat continued to treat him with a great deal of care. He always liked to sleep very close. It still seemed a wonder to him that he could reach out in the night, and there was a warm love right beside him. He was too happy. He was frightened that it would end.

***chapter end***


	25. Chapter 25

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/__Chapter 4__: _

Brett Heinemann, a senior technician at Facility 19, had watched as Colonel Bedville pressed the black button, that was supposed to have caused the immediate death of the subject. That piece of film was meant to have been destroyed. Brett no longer remembered that there had ever been a man they called John Doe, and he no longer remembered that, in his resentment, he had made an unauthorised film. It was found separate from the others, and was not viewed until tenth January. It was time that a decision was made, whether to return Bedville and Berg, or to charge them with their crimes, and try them under Aniragi law.

Dieter Roche, as head of the Auror Department, was responsible for the investigation. He conferred with Blake McMillan, Minister for Magic, and then requested the opinion of certain members of the Wizarding High Court. The three great witches and wizards of the Wizemgamot were all descendants of Bellamy, Jill Parker, Wilma Potter and Gerard Innes. Professor Parker said that it was obvious that Pat Howard, wife of Bellamy, should be consulted, as well as Bellamy himself. It was agreed. Pat and Bellamy would have the greatest say in the decision. McMillan distanced himself. The others would be the Committee, but he had an important engagement in America.

When the decision was relayed to Mark and Isaac, they crossed their fingers. John couldn't know about Option 3, and, as far as they knew, no others of the wizards knew about it, either. Their fate was in the hands of their former prisoner and his wife. And while Isaac said stoutly that they had looked after him very well, and that he'd had little but kindness from them all, Mark remembered him being starved by Greenspan, threatened by Forster, and mostly, being overwhelmed and drugged in the middle of the night, not so long ago. _Don't do it to me, Mark,_ he'd cried.

Henry Bellamy was requested to attend Azkaban, the Wizard Prison, with his wife, participate in a meeting where certain evidence was presented, and give his opinion. But John, when told, looked at his wife, and his voice was a fearful whisper, "Azkaban?"

Pat looked at the way he trembled, said calmly that obviously that wasn't suitable, and that other arrangements had to be made.

John still shrank from meeting more people who knew him well, who knew his history, and yet of whom he had no memory. For some reason, the name of Azkaban had frightened him badly, a memory or a fear, he presumed, from deep within. Aside from somehow finding his way home, he had yet to know a single memory of his old life. He didn't expect to. It was still as if he just hadn't lived very long.

Pat would have preferred that Bellamy was left out of the decision-making, but he was insistent that the two medj should just be allowed to go, while everyone else thought there should be punishment. It was finally agreed that the Committee would meet at Bellamy's home, review the main evidence, and make the decision there. Ten o'clock, Thursday, January fourteenth. Dieter visited again the day before, and made arrangements with Pat and Kitty. They would meet in the staff dining room, which was large enough for all the participants, and film viewing facilities would be organised.

He didn't see Bellamy, who was at Paul's place, talking to horses, and being told what his own requirement for the Line of Sheba was, that the horses should be clever horses. John didn't want to make any culls at that time, not having the confidence to make the call. Instead, he told Paul again about Naji, and also about the dearest little mare called Bess. Paul assumed that Bellamy had been in an institution somewhere, but obviously one in which he was treated very well. He followed the guidelines they'd all been given. Talk, make explanations, don't ask questions, and that there was no need to mention his great age or his unique abilities. Paul assumed that he would have lost his unique abilities in any case. The Cha Keeyo Curse! It was miraculous that he'd come back!

None of the committee members were too old to apparate, and apparation was normal and natural for competent wizards. The medj would be brought as apparation passengers by aurors. Thursday morning, three senior witches and wizards in their robes, plus two medj and five uniformed aurors, appeared in the apparation zone at the home of the great wizard. Each of them made a noise as they appeared, ranging from a fairly faint pop to a loud crack.

It was frightening for Mark and Isaac, each of them with a large auror holding them securely. But after a second's shaking their heads and getting their bearings, Isaac nudged Mark and pointed. Full tilt around a track not far away, two horses galloped, racing. A redheaded woman was in front on a glossy black horse, and they were sure it was John close behind her, on a white horse. Each of them wore capes that streamed out behind them.

Forgetting their uncertain fate, both Isaac and Mark smiled in delight. "Must be his wife," commented Isaac.

"Madam Patricia Howard is his wife," stated Dieter, frowning. "She'll be waiting at the house, no doubt." He had a great respect for Pat, and didn't like the idea that some might think a younger wife more suitable for the great wizard.

The sight was giving pleasure to others, as well. "Isn't he wonderful!" said Jill. "To come back after a thing like that."

Gerard Innes said, smiling, "No-one else would have done. No-one else would even have been able to escape the medj prison, not without a wand."

Mark asked, "But couldn't another wizard have apparated? No-one used a wand when we apparated."

Gerard explained, "It doesn't have to be waved, but it needs to be held, or at least, somewhere on the person, usually in a wand pocket."

The white horse flashed past the black as they passed through a high red and white archway, which was apparently the finishing post, as the horses pulled up, plunging. The riders were laughing together, in joy of life, as the others watched.

"Good to see him like that," said Isaac to Mark.

The senior witch who'd been introduced as Madam Potter, said in a cold and condemning tone, "Yet you kept him a prisoner." They didn't answer.

It wasn't a white horse after all, they discovered, as John rode over to them. Halfway there, the horse suddenly reared and started plunging, as John stared. It became apparently better behaved, and John rode over, ignoring the others and stopping in front of Dieter. "You didn't tell me you were bringing the prisoners here. I do not want them on my property."

Dieter said calmly, "They have a right to defend themselves and watch the evidence presented."

The horse reared in his face, although not endangering him. It wore a halter, with reins attached, but was not saddled. "They are my gaolers! I do not want them here!"

Dieter caught the horse by a rein. "Bellamy, be reasonable. You didn't agree that they should be charged, so if you want to put your point of view, it either has to be here, the Ministry, or Azkaban, and we're here now."

Madam Wilma Potter, impressive in midnight blue robes with silver-grey embroidery, said sternly, "Don't be silly, Harry! We'll get it over with more quickly if we do it here and now."

John looked at her and slipped off his horse. Margaret led it away. Dieter calmly introduced Bellamy to the three senior members of the Wizemgamot, and then to the aurors whom he would not know, though none of them were strangers. John took close note, of the feel of the person, and of the name. He would not forget, although they had become blurry as soon as his odd coloured horse was led off. He was more polite then, as he walked with them to the house, though he spoke no word to Isaac or Mark. He didn't hold a grudge so much. Rather, their presence frightened him, as if he might suddenly find himself a prisoner again.

Dieter was very careful as he gave a brief summary of Bellamy's captivity. Bellamy was wearing his impassive face again, and only listened. One of the aurors was to work the film equipment it seemed. Dieter nodded to him, brief segments of film were shown, the initial clip of John making himself clean-shaven, Ward 3, the Observation Room, then the high, barbed wire topped fences. Dieter made comments. John looked away, although still showing no expression.

"Next we have specific instances of cruel treatment. They are in chronological order." Short film clips were shown of John being hit with a stun gun, shot in the legs, and then pacing, staggering, obviously weakened, as Dieter explained that he was refusing to accept drugged food. There was an interrogation, although not the one that ended in Bellamy flinging a chair around by a handcuff. RAB was explained in detail, and there was a piece of film that showed guards checking their RABs and looking up into the trees.

"Comments?" Dieter finished.

John stirred. "They sincerely believed they were doing the right thing keeping me captive. There was no gratuitous cruelty. Let them go."

There was a chorus of disagreement, less logic than emotion. "They starved you!" said Jill.

John shrugged, "I had the choice, and those other things, it was because I was trying to get away."

Dieter said, "In the interests of fairness, we'll show a part of the other side of the story, again in chronological order." There was a piece of film showing John's introduction to his new quarters, looking very scruffy with a short, patchy beard.

Pat touched his arm. "Promise me, you'll _never_ grow a beard."

John lost his cool look for a moment, and his eyes gleamed with amusement. "I promise I will_ never _grow a beard."

He was shown laughing with some soldiers at lunch, using some exercise equipment, though with ribs very clearly visible, cantering Bess, two guards on taller horses close behind, and then, looking a lot healthier, playing water polo. The final shot was as he ate ice-creams with three soldiers, one a pretty woman. Even the whispered suggestion to the woman that resulted in a laughing shake of the head was shown. Mark spoke up for himself. "He asked that the store carry ice-creams, and I arranged it for him, even when it was winter."

John regarded him with some merriment on his face. "Yes, but I asked for twenty-four varieties, and there were only eighteen!" There was a chorus of laughter. John asked again, "So how about you just let them go."

Madam Parker, a thin woman with spectacles, said, "I notice that in every one of those pictures, there are always guards, not far away. There seem to be about seven surrounding him in that last one where he's eating an ice-cream, not counting the ones keeping him company. It must have made him feel very insecure."

Mark said, "The night after he asked for ice-creams, he made it out of his locked room, past his two personal guards, through both sets of barbed wire topped fences, also well guarded, two electrified fences, and would almost certainly have escaped if he hadn't collapsed, ill. The guards were needed."

Dieter said, "I want to show one more piece of film before any decision is made. Watch carefully. I suspect that Colonel Bedville may not know of this film."

The opening shots showed John lying in a hospital bed, but muttering and moving his head. John didn't want to see this, and quietly rose from his chair and took a position leaning on the wall. Pat looked after him, worried, but stayed in her place. The picture was crystal clear to John, even when he looked away from the screen.

"It's abbreviated, of course," said Dieter, "Already edited when discovered. Time and date are clearly shown, top righthand corner."

Removal of the feeding tube was shown. John's face, as he leaned casually against the wall, was impassive, but he felt humiliated. He didn't want people to see this sort of thing. He supposed there'd be a urine bag, too. There always was when he'd been unconscious for a while.

Gerard Innes glanced at him, suddenly acutely sorry for him. He'd hate it if it was himself.

Isaac saw himself swearing as John hit away his hand, then more sedative and then wrist restraints. Dieter said quietly, "He always panicked when restrained, which they knew, but a comment tells us that he wasn't supposed to wake up for a while to come."

"The eighteenth December," commented Jill Parker. "Is this when he escapes?"

Dieter nodded. "Soon."

The awakening, a scream and a brief struggle against the restraints before they vanished, and John was on his feet. Still naked, but scar blazing. He looked around, and soldiers, nurse and doctor dropped. The female nurse stared, terrified. And then the naked patient vanished into thin air.

The screen divided, Ward 3, the Observation Room, and John's tree, where he was seen after a moment, climbing and sitting in his customary perch, as Nicki checked the fallen men, and stated that they seemed all right.

Ward 3 dissolved, and the screen divided back into two. The Observation Room was shown, as Colonel Bedville gave the order that John was to be disabled. _"Use Option 3, Disable him." _

Mark flinched. He'd been confident by this stage that it wouldn't come out. What hope had they now of being returned unharmed? He glanced quickly at John, whose cool eyes were on him.

The picture of John jerking and screaming in sudden pain the instant that Brett pressed the red button, was very clear. A glimpse of a fist, and the screen showing John went blank. The screen was still divided. Brett had left it like that for effect. Live action in one, and a blank screen on the other side. Monotonously, the graph lines showing pulse, blood pressure, muscle tension, from RAB, as well as brain waves from CUZ, wavered along the bottom of the screen.

Mark Bedville's decision, _End it. The black button. _Brett's voice,protesting.And then Mark took the device from him, pressed in some numbers, and then firmly pressed in the black button. The graph lines ceased, it seemed as he did it, but must actually have been an instant before. The portion of the screen that had showed John now slowly closed, and the whole picture was just the Observation Room. Somebody asked if they were to retrieve the body for dissection. Mark's voice was flat as he said that John was to be taken to his own room. And then Mark walked away.

There was a pause, even with some music that swelled as a final scene was shown. It appeared that Brett had come to the same conclusion as Mark. A hawk was seen rising from the trees, and flying east, toward the rising sun.

There had been a rapt silence in the room. The deep breaths of the audience clearly visible as the tension dissolved.

Bellamy broke it. He said casually, "So what? Isn't it only what the Ministry has tried to do to me from time to time? Let them go."

They stared at him in disbelief, and argument started. Pat went to him, and wound an arm around him. "Are you all right?" she asked very quietly.

John squeezed her. "I'll be glad when it's over."

He looked around at the vociferous argument that had developed. It seemed that the medj had been forgotten as Bellamy's statement about the Ministry was argued. Gerard Innes was refusing to believe that Bellamy was ever attacked by the Ministry, but Professor Parker was a teacher, and Bellamy's past was a part of history. She knew he was right.

Dieter glanced around. "We'll break for lunch."

Mark and Isaac were accompanied by two grim-faced aurors when they were allowed out for a breath of fresh air. Isaac glanced over at Bellamy not far away. It was not only his cape that made him look different, but his whole bearing had changed. Pat watched him with a slightly worried frown, as he spoke to the senior wizards and witches of the Wizemgamot. He was arguing for his gaolers, she knew.

Mark and Isaac were not invited to join the meeting as the decision was made. Instead, the aurors, Steve and Larry, at their request, allowed them to stroll around the property, merely staying close. They were hardly about to escape - only medj after all.

Mark pointed to Isaac, "Lots of coloured lights! He told Stan and I not so long ago, that he'd have lots of lights, lights of all colours, so that others might call it vulgar, but it would look like nothing but Christmas."

"Didn't you tell me he also wanted seven sisters and three brothers?"

Larry, who'd been listening, gave a crack of laughter at this. "Only child, I'm afraid! He's got children, though." They heard a whistle, and turned.

When they re-entered the dining room now masquerading as something like a court room, Chief Auror, Dieter Roche, told them, quite formally, that they would not be charged with any crimes, but that they would be returned to their own world as soon as appropriate arrangements could be made.

Mark gave a sigh of relief. Isaac was regretful. He'd been having a wonderful time with Bryce - the 'mutation' was a mutual passion, and he was going to forget all about him. He didn't want to be detained in prison of course, but still... He remembered something, and Larry tapped Pat on her shoulder, and passed on the message. Pat looked, surprised, at the man whose actions had caused her husband to distrust either healers or doctors.

It was John, not Bellamy, who joined Mark. Bellamy was the assured great wizard, who'd been seen briefly as he argued for Mark and Isaac, producing that statement that was as much a surprise to himself as it was to anyone else, that killing him was only what the Ministry tried to do to him from time to time. But now that unaccustomed aura of power was dropped, and it was John, with a look of enjoyment on his face, who asked Mark if he wanted to see something interesting. Mark glanced at Larry, who nodded, but came with them, just in case.

Mark congratulated John on his Christmas lights. John smiled. "Pat says we can have them longer than usual this year, but they definitely have to be taken down at the end of January." Facility 19 didn't come into the conversation, except that John pointed at the high fence. "I'm the boss here, so I had the fence punched full of holes."

And then he took Mark to the Old Horses' Paddocks, three large adjoining paddocks, all with warmed shelters, where over a hundred horses were coddled. "Mostly retired brood mares," Mark was told, "It seems I own the Line of Sheba stud, although the white ones and a few others are from an Andalusian stud."

Mark wasn't sure whether to be amused or bored when he was told about the individual mares, so many of whom, according to John, were the dams of champions. "Two foals of that black mare, Shiralee, have been to the Olympics." John had been talking to Victor, who knew their history, but from his demeanour, one wouldn't have known that it was not firsthand knowledge.

Larry had his eyes on Bellamy. He'd known him well, but he knew he was not remembered at all. It hurt a little, and he wondered how difficult it was for his family to understand that they were strangers.

Meantime, Pat was being fully briefed on the fact that her husband routinely collapsed in great pain that lasted for hours, and followed by more hours of a state of unconsciousness that often showed EEG patterns akin to coma. Pat was surprised. "There's been nothing like that, and he's been home since Christmas Eve!"

Isaac smiled. "Every time he's free of them for a time, he says it'll probably never happen again. But you have to know. I've known him rendered helpless for a month at a time. And if he's alone, he might die of exposure in this weather."

Pat stared at him, and suddenly shivered. "He disappeared for hours on Boxing Day, about four in the afternoon to very late at night. It was snowing. I thought he'd left us, but maybe it was that."

Isaac nodded. "Almost certainly, I'd say. I can't imagine him leaving the home he'd just found."

Pat spoke quietly. "Thanks for telling me." Isaac nodded.

Pat frowned at him. "I was in favour of having you charged and imprisoned. It was Henry, and only Henry, that got you off. In spite of RAB and in spite of Option C."

Isaac reddened and said defensively, "Well, maybe now I've saved his life. He obviously didn't want to tell you."

Pat hesitated. Henry hadn't wanted her to know, although she didn't know why. But within a short time, Archie and Ursula were also being briefed, especially Ursula who was a nurse.

John was showing Mark the walled garden. "Cold and bare now, of course, but Pat said she loves it." Larry, at a hint from John, waited outside, out of earshot. John spoke abruptly, "How are they treating you there?" and he spoke that word that sent a shudder through him, "Azkaban."

Mark glanced at him, "Very reasonably. It's not so nice being a prisoner, of course, but we'll be gone, I guess, in a day or two."

John was frowning. "Memory modification. They say they do it all the time, but it doesn't sound ethical to me."

Mark suddenly shivered. "Is that what was done to you?"

"What was done to me is nothing like what they're talking about with you and Isaac, and all the other soldiers they found as well. It's just a minor and precise change, they told me. You won't wind up like me."

Mark sighed. "It may not seem ethical to you, but I can see why it's thought necessary. We had one wizard in our hands, and look what we did to you."

John shrugged. "It's over now. And I could have had it an awful lot worse."

Mark grinned and started moving toward the gate. "You know you gave Forster those boils!"

John stopped and stared at him. "I don't know how to give anyone boils!"

Mark said, "There were indications when you woke very briefly, and then Dieter told me you sometimes used to do that to people who tried to kill you."

John was a little troubled. "Has he _still _got boils?"

"I don't know." They turned and started walking again, a cat now at John's heels, quickly joined by two more.

Mark said, "You know when you left, and we all thought you were dead, there was almost a mutiny? The soldiers were furious with us. And when we searched, we had to team a Force B man with a Force A man, just to make sure that they wouldn't just pass you by."

John grinned. "It didn't work. I must have looked pitiful, because two found me, one aimed a rifle, then he changed his mind, and they passed me by."

Mark said with difficulty, "We did try and look after you. There was even to be a new girlfriend."

"I always knew, of course, that Clare reported on me, but all the same, I was very grateful to have her."

Mark said nothing. John paused in his walking, tilting his head slightly, and then said definitely, "No. She's _not_ dead. She just left, is all."

Mark stared, and then said softly, "There was a suicide note. She said it was too hard."

John shook his head. "She just wanted to get away then, maybe. Because I can feel her and she's alive."

"How can you feel her, John?" asked Mark.

John quickened his steps, feeling suddenly a little panicky, and said nothing. It might be an unusual ability, and one should never show when you could do things that others couldn't.

Mark glanced at his face. The confidences were over, it seemed. He wondered how deep ingrained was his instinct for hiding his abilities. He tried another question. "Did the Ministry really try and kill you? Or did you just say that?"

John just walked, thinking. Finally, he said, "I don't know why I said that, but from the argument afterwards, there must have been some foundation." But then he called over God Wot? and Mark laughed with him at the horse's bizarre appearance. He was given the story of the unauthorised matings, too. John said, "If I'd had the brains of God Wot?, I might have been gone a lot sooner."

They were leaning on the fence, looking over at the riding horses and ponies. Mark said quietly, "I'm glad you got away." John accepted the simple statement. There was a lot more meaning behind it than the bare words.

John no longer remembered that his home was hidden by enchantments. But after the handshaking and the goodbyes, only Dieter and Bruce, who'd been told the coordinates by Bellamy himself, would remember them for long. There were several others in the Ministry who knew, and not all of them were supposed to know. It was time to renew the enchantments, but John had forgotten all his old skills, and was frightened of starting attacks of pain again if he used magic. Pat crossed her fingers and hoped for the best.

That night, John slept very badly. Seeing Mark and Isaac, and maybe also the talk of Azkaban, had re-awoken fears. He fretted, was soothed by Pat, slept for a little, and started muttering and fidgeting again. Repeatedly through the night. Pat was able to prevent his nightmares taking their full course, but John woke very early, while Pat slept late.

Archie's first job of the day, even before he had breakfast, was to check the heated, indoor pool and the spa, ensuring they were always sparkling, ready for use. But here was the boss, who could collapse almost without warning, alone in the swimming pool. It was obvious that at least two had to be with him whenever he swam, or was even in the spa. There were grumbles, but a few minutes later, it seemed that Peter and Margaret also fancied an early morning swim. John was a little surprised to see them there. Although heated, the pool was not much used in the middle of winter.

He and Pat were alone at breakfast. John was cheerful, carefree. Mark and Isaac would be gone back to their world, he was no longer a prisoner, and the weather, when he looked outside, was windy. He liked the wind, there was something within him that always responded to wild weather. Pat looked tired, even a little grumpy. So it was a surprise when she said that she wanted to join him when he rode on the moors. Pat viewed riding as of use, occasionally, for specific purposes. To her, it was not a pleasure in itself. But John was pleased. Pat was perfect. He liked to be with Pat.

Warm jackets, not capes, as they were going off the property, and capes, even on such a cold day, were not common wear. Pat looked a little disapprovingly at her husband. He hadn't bothered with a saddle, and the clownish horse was so conspicuous. Her mount, Badham, was a bay, properly saddled and bridled. It was a quality horse, but an easy ride now that Margaret had persuaded it that other riders didn't approve of bucking just because the boss did. His age helped, too.

Edward Lockwood, the local lord's son, was out exercising his hunter, as he did most days.

John casually waved, but Edward turned his eyes away. He knew it was a local, as he'd seen him around before, but he looked like a gipsy, his horse not even saddled. He supposed he couldn't afford the tack, though the middle-aged woman beside him was on a decent horse.

"Edward Lockwood," said Pat. "I have a feeling Margaret would like to meet him, but they're snobs, of course."

"Well, we're snobs, too, aren't we?" said John. "We don't socialise among the locals."

"It's dangerous to make friends with medj. Too likely that they notice what we are. Or what you are. I'm medj myself, of course."

John turned to her in surprise, "Are you?"

Pat nodded. "Sorry. I forgot there's so much you don't know."

John flushed. He was trying very hard to remember everything he was told, but there were things that found him out. He wondered if he'd ever feel confident again in this world.

Pat was shivering. "Ready to go back now?"

John nodded, but reluctantly. He hadn't even galloped. But Pat was his adored wife and maybe there was something else they could do when they got home.

They did do something else when they got home, and in the afternoon, Margaret, on Sirius, was happy to gallop as fast as he wanted.

He didn't notice how rarely he was quite alone. There were always people around, and he liked it like that. He managed to find the old lady, Clare Dearborn, between paintings, and she started talking. Quietly, encouraging with an occasional comment, John listened as Clare told him how she'd first married Caradoc, her husband, who'd been so wonderful. Clare reminisced, pleased to have someone listening so attentively. "He wrote books," she was saying. "Books of philosophy mostly, as you know."

John didn't say he didn't know.

"He was very old when he knew it was time to go. There comes a time, of course, for us all. And I held him tight, and he stopped breathing and he left me." They were quiet.

Clare started again. "I wouldn't have had him if it wasn't for you. You pulled him out of a spell, and then you brought him here. Several years later, he found me, and we married. He gave me what I needed, and I think I gave him what he needed."

"How long were you married?" John asked, and Clare told him. John made no indication, but it was more evidence of what he was beginning to suspect, that he might be very old, a lot older than his wife.

Clare remembered that they were not supposed to tell him yet that he was special, but thought it was nonsense. He had to know some time. But now she looked at him irritably, and told him to go. She was sick of him, and she needed to do something else now. Clare had always been odd, now she no longer bothered with conventions of manners. John just rose and thanked her for her time. Clare grunted, and watched after him. More lives than an alley cat, she thought.

Pat asked him again about seeing a healer. He was adamant in his refusal. Pat sighed. He used to do what she said. She guessed he didn't remember that.

***chapter end***


	26. Chapter 26

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/__Chapter 5:_

John was beginning to be restless. It was time to be up and doing something, rather than just drifting. On the last day of January, the Christmas lights came down.

Again he prowled in his workshop. He knew now of some of his inventions that still brought in income. He wandered the library one day, finding his way into a hidden section. He didn't tell Pat, and didn't quite know why he wanted to keep it secret. He ran his hands along the backs of books. There didn't seem many here, and he couldn't see well enough to tell what they were, and why they might be special. When he came out again, he was greeted with a relief that seemed out of all proportion to his half hour's absence. But already they'd been searching.

One day, he wandered into his secretary's office. Alison was sorting mail. "People are beginning to know you're back," she said. "Pat said to send a small notice into the paper, just to say that Henry Bellamy is home, but will not be working."

John asked, surprised, "Why should people care?"

"Oh, well," Alison said vaguely, "You know what people are like."

John wasn't sure that he did know what people were like. "I used to work spell-breaking," he said, seeking information. "But there must be a lot of other spell-breakers..."

Alison nodded uncomfortably. John still looked at her, his eyes penetrating, though he could barely see her face, let alone her expression. "I still have enough money, don't I?" he asked. "There's no need to work for financial reasons."

Alison could answer this with confidence. "Your investments are wide-ranging, and certain of your books still bring in regular royalties. I doubt if you'll ever be short of money."

John was beginning to be irked a little by Pat. There were things she wasn't telling him, and the staff were following suit. He looked at the large table, and suddenly saw clearly as Alison looked as well. Unerringly, he put his hand on a particular pile of letters, picking up the top one.

Alison was worried. He was the boss, but he was sick, and they were supposed to protect him. Pat said. But Bellamy calmly handed her the letter, asked if it was addressed to him, and asked her to read it for him. Alison took a deep breath. When he asked like this, it was the boss. She read him the letter from Italy. "I'm only ten, and I can't walk, and I look funny, and Mum says no-one else can help me, even Madam Stonehouse couldn't do anything, and I've been like this more than two years now and my brother's the same and he's only five." Alison glanced at him, and finished, "She begs you to come and help her and her brother."

John stared into the distance, and at last looked back at Alison. "Am I really the only one for some things?"

Alison nodded. John didn't see the gesture, but felt her affirmative.

He was the only one who could help the ten-year-old child and her brother. But he didn't know magic any more, and when he tried to use it, he paid the penalty in agony. John wandered outside and looked around, unhappy. He whistled, and God Wot? jumped the fence and came to him. He swung himself up, and galloped off down the drive, alone when there was always Victor or Margaret or Peter, or even Oliver with him. Horses were swiftly saddled, and both Peter and Margaret went off after him. But John had gone in the opposite direction than normal, and they had to return and admit to Pat that they'd lost him.

God Wot? was a big, strong animal, and took John a long way. He stopped in a wood where there was a small grouping of evergreen trees. The trees would help him think, though he needed to jump from his horse's back to catch the lowest branch that would enable him to climb. For a little, he just sat, feeling his surroundings, talking to a couple of birds that came close. The living things, both plant and animal, were his friends. Suddenly he knew what he needed to help him see. He'd have his own dog, and it would be like when he rode. He would be able to see better if he had a dog at his heels.

But magic. Every time there was Defence Practice, he watched. He had a wand now, since Mary had found him one. But all he'd done since he'd been home was that routine shave in the morning. Staying away from magic helped him stay well. He hadn't gone down to the pain since that time when he was in bed with Pat, and it had only lasted twenty minutes or so that time, almost the shortest time ever. He shivered when he thought of that pain that grabbed him. There were people in trouble, and Alison said he was the only one. He thought he'd ask Pat, though Pat mightn't want to tell him. He shrugged impatiently. Did he really need to be protected?

It was an hour later when he came to the conclusion that even without the spur of needy children, he would start working at his magic again. It was a part of himself, and he couldn't be contented in the long term if he pretended that part of himself didn't exist. He swung himself down from his tree, and conjured a warm blanket for his horse, before returning to his perch. He'd started, and besides, God Wot? needed the blanket. He was shivering himself, but scarcely noticed as he planned how to go about it. He knew spells now, and he had a wand. Maybe the pain wouldn't hit if he used a wand like wizards were meant to. He told himself optimistically that the attacks had decreased in severity after a while before, even when he continued practising. Maybe it'd never happen again. But it was still an hour later and past dark when he slipped down from his tree, and started back.

Pat was calm at first when he went off by himself. She was a lady with a lot of self control. A fairly low key search was mounted, all the riders available sent out. After two hours, Paul and Marcus, next door, were also searching. Several dogs went with them. A dog might find him when a human might not, especially after the sun went down.

By the time John cantered through the gateway, Pat was pacing, almost crying, frantic. He was lying outside somewhere, helpless, probably in agony as Isaac had described. He'd be dead by morning!

For the first time in Pat and Bellamy's married life, they had a screaming row. Pat said he was irresponsible, John denied it. Pat pointed out that everyone had been searching, everyone was worried.

John said, "For God's sake, why?"

Pat stood tall, furious, and almost spat at him that he was a sick man, that he had to be looked after. John denied that he was a sick man, and now his voice had risen too. Pat repeated even louder that he was a sick man, and that he had to have people with him at all times to look after him.

John shrank from her a moment, people with him at all times? But she couldn't do that to him, he was not a prisoner. He'd only known her a short time. Was she prone to hysterical attacks? But he had to stand up for himself, and said that he would absolutely_ not _put up with people with him at all times.

"You have to," Pat almost screamed, half crying. "You'll collapse, and no-one will be there!"

John turned his back, as he snarled that he was not a prisoner, and would do, always, exactly what he chose.

"You're acting like a two-year-old!" Pat screamed at him.

John put his head slightly to the side, paused, and then turned back to her. Very quietly, he said. "In my own mind, I _am _a two-year-old. I'm sorry I upset you."

Pat sobbed as he embraced her. He apologised again, but Pat couldn't speak. She wanted to say how worried she'd been, how she loved him, but the hysterical sobs went on and on.

Margaret Barnes had come in halfway through, and now stepped back quietly, and passed on the message to call off the search.

They made up, Pat and her Henry, and John agreed not to go swimming by himself, and to at least tell someone where he would be riding. He even made no objection when there always seemed to be a horse ready saddled, although blanketed, so that someone could ride with him. Not only was he aware now that Pat worried about him, he acknowledged to himself that she just might be right. He was using a wand now, copying the spells that he saw the staff using, but he did it away out of sight. He didn't even tell Pat what he was doing. He was a damaged man, and secrecy had become a part of him.

For nearly three weeks, he practised magic with a wand, often having failures to begin with, but the failures became fewer. He was optimistic. He wasn't going to collapse, and maybe his full powers might one day return. When he questioned Pat directly, she answered his questions, and he heard about the degrees of magic that he could call up, that no-one else could. Careful questions gave him the information that nobody else could apparate from America to England, which was an indication that maybe the raw power was still there, only waiting to be mastered. She told him, too, about animagi, though no-one had ever asked whether he might have turned himself into a hawk when he escaped, assuming a disapparation. There had been no animagi for generations, and the knowledge was almost lost. He didn't ask her how old he was. He was a little frightened of that knowledge.

_**x**_

It was straight after breakfast, toward the end of February. There was a raw wind blowing, but Margaret seemed to feel the cold as little as he did, and waited beside her horse, stroking him proudly. Sirius seemed to gleam more than ever, and when she noticed John looking, she said, "It's a spell that Victor told me about. I had to do it, of course, since he doesn't have magic. It makes a horse's coat like pure gloss."

"He doesn't use it when he shows horses, does he? That wouldn't be fair."

"He says it's only for showjumping, if Oliver, for instance, wants to take it up. The shine of a horse has no bearing on how high he can jump."

John had his head cocked a little. "You're looking pretty glossy yourself, aren't you?"

Margaret smiled in satisfaction. Her long, red hair was loose, and she wore a cape. "If that bastard Lockwood doesn't at least look at me today, I'll hex him with pimples!"

John grinned.

Not long later, Margaret pointed out the distant figure on his horse. "That chestnut he's been riding recently has a look of our horses. I wonder if it is."

"Well, if we two have a race to the stone wall, going right past him, and if it starts racing, too, it probably is."

Margaret grinned. "He'll notice me if his horse starts bucking or racing."

"Probably a better method than hexing him with pimples!"

God Wot? was plunging, Sirius prancing. The pair often raced, and enjoyed it as much as their riders. "Over the wall?" Margaret suggested, "And the loser has to put away the horses when we get home."

John grinned, "Done!"

Margaret counted, and the horses raced the moment she said three. They knew, and needed no indication from their riders.

Both John and Margaret had a purpose in mind aside from racing, and Margaret was on the inside, closest to Edward. Her hair and cape streamed out behind her, and she looked magnificent, just as she'd planned. John rode close beside her, his horse almost hidden behind Sirius. Just as they flashed past the target, Margaret found herself in the lead. The two horses leapt the stone wall, closely followed by Edward's chestnut. John slowed, and watched as Sirius and Edward's horse raced on, though it was obvious that Edward was trying hard to pull up his horse. John gave Sirius a mental suggestion, and Sirius slowed, and started prancing instead, curvetting, arching his neck, showing off his rider.

Edward Lockwood got his horse under control, and loudly berated the other rider for ignorance and rudeness. John raised his eyebrows at Margaret's retaliation. She looked like a virago, or like a Celtic warleader. John wouldn't have thought that it was a good way to get a man's attention, but maybe Margaret knew what she was doing. He'd heard her brother, half laughing, half critical, about her never-ending series of boyfriends.

John was an interested audience as the son of a Duke and the witch tore each other's character to shreds. The voices lost their shrillness, and after a while they turned and rejoined Margaret's 'cousin.' John was introduced and greeted the young man politely, and the conversation turned back to their horses. "Quite a turn of speed the black has," said Edward, condescension in his tone. "Mine, of course, is 'Line of Sheba.' With more substance than a thoroughbred, superb horses for hunting. Very expensive, but my father says it's suitable that I have the best."

Margaret's whole bearing was a challenge, and John wasn't the slightest bit surprised when she suggested a race. John declined to join in, only watching with some considerable enjoyment. Was it to be a romance? Or was the young man just too unbearably snobbish for Margaret's liking?

He watched with interest as Margaret's black came racing to the lead, in spite of having already raced once. They were doing a large circle, around a first marker, a second marker, and back toward him. The fright rose in him. It had been too long, and now he was terrified of the cost he was going to pay. They were not close as he hunched over his horse, and then fell with almost a scream, writhing, struggling against the pain, under the feet of God Wot? who looked down in concern, and stayed stock still as John found his leg and held it tight as if it might help.

By the time that Margaret and Edward arrived on their panting horses, he'd let go, and only lay still, enduring. Margaret was frantic with worry, trying to shift him to a more comfortable position, offering to conjure him a pillow.

"Just leave me alone," John got out, and Edward took Margaret by the arm, pulling her back. Margaret was almost crying. "I never thought it would happen, not while I'm looking after him."

Edward said, "What is it?"

Margaret took control of herself. "It's something akin to epilepsy, and we're not to move him or disturb him while the pain lasts, or he goes into seizures."

Their voices to John were a long way away, what they said was irrelevant to him, but he wanted quiet. He was grateful to Edward when he pulled Margaret further away, leaving him alone.

A little later, Margaret streaked away on Sirius. Edward came closer, looking at him, seeing the pain. It was not possible for John to pretend. The pain was unendurable, but there was no choice but to endure. Edward retreated a little, hitched the two horses to a pair of large hooks that emerged unexpectedly from the stone wall, and just sat on the grass and waited. John was grateful.

Pat knew what to do. With money no object, she had already bought a special vehicle for the purpose of retrieving an unconscious man. It bumped over the rough ground, and stopped not too close to where John lay. John wanted to apologise to her, to hide. He was helpless to do either. Gently, she laid a warm blanket over him, and they waited. It would be better if he went into a faint before they tried to move him.

Another car drew near. Victor and Peter, to lift him as carefully as possible when the time came, and Ursula, the nurse. Even Ursula did nothing, just creeping quietly closer for a few minutes, and then waiting with the others. It was Edward who said quietly, "I think he's fainted." Ursula checked him again, and this time was thorough, before saying to bring the van close, and they'd take him home.

While John was tended to, Margaret and Edward hovered, and finally rode slowly home, leading John's skewbald.

"I'll stay a while," said Edward. "I want to know that he's all right."

Margaret gave him an unhappy smile. "Clare says he's got more lives than a scarred old alley cat." But once Ursula assured her that there was no reason that the boss wouldn't wake up perfectly all right, her spirits lightened, and she showed her young man around the property, and then asked him to stay for lunch, served in the staff dining room, by Kitty and Louise. "Most of the single staff eat here," she told him. "But the married ones have their own houses, and mostly organise for themselves."

Gabrielle, Peter's wife, sat next to Clare. "Surely it would be better if you had a room close to the big house, or even within the house," she was saying persuasively. Clare, as always, was refusing. She had her house just the way she liked it, though she didn't mind it if Gabrielle cleaned now and then. Gabrielle was a witch, so cleaning was easy, but Clare was medj, and well into her eighties besides.

Edward was becoming more curious. There were more staff here than in his own home, yet there seemed to be little reason for it. He knew now that Margaret's 'cousin' was her boss, though wasn't surprised when Margaret admitted that the relationship was a little more distant than that.

It was mid afternoon before word came that Bellamy was awake, perfectly all right, and apologising for being such a nuisance for everyone. "See you tomorrow?" said Edward tentatively.

"I expect so," said Margaret. "Even if the boss is not well enough, I'll probably be riding."

"What exactly do you do here?" Edward asked, as she seemed to do pretty much what she wanted.

"Whatever's needed," said Margaret. "I help with the mail sometimes, sometimes the house-keeping, though Kitty says I'm never allowed in the kitchen again, and I help look after the horses."

Pat showed no desire to put John out because he was too sickly. John was deeply relieved and tried to put away his fear. Still, he was shamed. There was no choice, shamed or not, you just had to face people anyway.

The following morning, still feeling shaky, John watched Margaret as she looked carefully over the horses available for riding. "You can ride God Wot? if you want," he offered.

But Margaret answered with a slight rebuke in her voice, "Your horses are troublesome because you teach them to buck. And Sirius should have a rest, but I've got to have an especially goodlooking horse this morning."

"To impress Edward?"

"That's right," said Margaret, without a trace of self-consciousness. "Maybe Victor will loan me Tattler. He's only an ordinary colour, but he's very big, and will make me look small and dainty."

John raised his eyebrows. "Small and dainty?"

Margaret grinned at him sidelong. "We got his attention yesterday."

John said ruefully, "I thought it enough that I let you win the race!"

"You_ let_ me win," objected Margaret, "I won it fair and square. And don't forget you owe me - the loser had to put away the horses."

Victor strolled over to join the pair. "Tattler?" Victor queried Margaret. "There's Badham there, three other horses and a half dozen ponies which you can ride perfectly easily."

John said, grinning, "She wants to impress young Lockwood."

Victor teased, "Planning on being a duchess?"

Margaret tossed her head. "I'm a witch and a descendant of the great wizard himself! Lockwood can be grateful if I condescend to spend a few weeks with him!"

John wondered who the great wizard was, and didn't ask. He learned more every day, without showing his ignorance by asking questions, and whoever it was, it didn't concern him.

By the following day, he was back on his horse, and out on the moors. Edward waved at them, and John fell back as he joined them. Margaret and Edward walked their horses and chattered. Their attraction was obvious, and John wasn't the slightest bit surprised when Edward asked her out.

She showed Pat and the boss what she was wearing that night. "Is that appropriate?" asked Pat in surprise.

"Oh, yes," said Margaret casually. "I know all about current medj fashions, though they change a lot quicker than witch fashions."

Edward became a bit of a nuisance after that. He always seemed to be around, and everyone had to be careful not to work magic in front of him.

John went down again to the pain, this time as he was about to go swimming. Peter had to pull him away from the side of the pool, as he threw himself around in the first agony. It lasted a very long time that time, and when Ursula used her monitoring devices on him afterward, she looked concerned. "A healer?" she suggested to Pat.

"He's always refused," said Pat. But when the first attack was followed almost immediately by a second and then a third, she called in the Ministry Healer, Bryce McKenzie. She would have preferred someone else. Bryce was renowned for his tactlessness, but the secrecy of Bellamy's home was too important to be sacrificed by calling in someone else.

Bellamy was in the large downstairs bedroom now, that was more convenient for use as a sickroom. Pat couldn't be with him when he was in pain, as even her near presence was too much of a disturbance, and the fitting would start.

Pat was very surprised when Healer McKenzie apparated with an arm wrapped around his close friend, Isaac Berg. "He wanted to stay on," he explained. "And as I'm learning from him almost as much as he's learning from me, it was agreed that he could."

Pat's surprise was nothing compared to the shock of John, who woke and found Isaac holding a sensor to his forearm. He jerked himself up in acute alarm. They had him again and he had to escape!

Isaac quickly reassured him and stood back as Bryce checked the figures in his notebook.

"I reckon I can help your eyesight," he said to Bellamy. "Just a simple and standard spell. As soon as you're over this attack."

But it was John who answered. "You're not doing _anything_ to me! I will not be touched by any doctor_ or_ healer!"

Pat was in the room, and squeezed John gently on the shoulder. 'We'll talk about it later," she said. "You'd like to be able to read, wouldn't you?"

John would like to be able to read. But right now, he was only feeling dizzy, and lay back down in his bed. And even before he could tell both Isaac and Bryce to go away and never return, he knew he was about to go down again. This time, he bit his lip, making it bleed. They shouldn't see him cry out. But his eyes watered, and he couldn't help but move, trying to escape, as if by movement, it might stop. And he cried out anyway. It seemed he couldn't help it.

When Bryce held a sensor to his head, he showed Isaac. "The pain monitor. Off the scale."

Suddenly, John was fitting, to Pat's acute distress. "You disturbed him," she accused. "He was better without you."

Bryce said, "We need a specialist. Maybe there are things that can be done."

Pat gave in to persuasions as John stayed ill. A specialist in diseases of the mind and brain would be called in. He was losing weight fast, and Isaac said that he'd be on an Intravenous Drip by now if he was under his control. Instead, next time the pain struck, Bryce tried a spell that eased pain, and then watched in acute concern as the Nisco measures plunged, showing how close he came to death. A specialist arrived, did all sorts of checks as John lay unconscious, and decided, prudently, not to risk any spells until he was well. He should be taken into London to see her, but only when he was over this episode. Pat wondered if she'd ever get Henry there. He was a lot more difficult to manage these days, than he was before he disappeared.

More letters arrived begging for the help of the great wizard. Alison answered them with a form letter, carefully composed, explaining that Bellamy was too ill to do any spell-breaking, but that they would not be forgotten. If Bellamy recovered sufficiently to work his miracles, then, no doubt, he would do so.

Edward Lockwood visited every day, using the excuse that he was concerned about his neighbour's health, even though Bellamy wasn't a particularly close neighbour. But Edward was more and more fascinated with the vibrant young redhead, and more and more puzzled about her position in the hierarchy of the establishment. It was not only Margaret, but all of the staff seemed to do very much as they pleased, although it was obvious that jobs were done, as the estate was well looked after, livestock pampered, including the large herds of aged horses, and the gardens beginning to show more green as spring progressed. There was even an old lady, no relation, who never bothered being polite, but was very well looked after. Her paintings, Edward thought, were wonderful. His father refused to consider buying any.

John's illness lasted three weeks, and then relaxed its grip. Pat asked Bryce not to come again, as soon as the illness eased. John wanted no healer, and especially not Bryce. He tolerated Isaac better, who had quite often come with Bryce. But Pat pressed John to promise to see the specialist, and John finally agreed. If Healer Borthwyck could fix him, them maybe he could fix the Italian children. But he insisted on waiting until he was stronger. He felt a chill whenever he thought about anyone raising a wand to him, but dismissed it as mere nervousness. A long time ago, he'd known to take notice of premonitions. He didn't start practising magic again. He'd let the healer have a go before he tried again.

When Edward saw him again, he was very thin, still pale, but astride a grey pony. He was walking him slowly as Ursula walked beside him, and pointed out her fields of daffodils. "Probably only a week before they're in full bloom," she said proudly. "You know how wonderful they always look!"

John said that daffodils were always so cheerful. He'd achieved his wish. Most of the time, people forgot how short a time his memory extended back.

Margaret hadn't tired of Edward, as she tired of all her other boyfriends after a few weeks, and a couple of days later, he turned up accompanied by his father, Lord Lockwood. John was sitting in the garden where the first spring flowers were blooming. A cat sat on his knee. Three others twined around his feet. He still hadn't found himself a dog, though he'd mentioned his intention to Pat. He noticed the appearance of Edward, even felt that the older man was probably his father, and watched with interest as Margaret greeted the pair, and then took them in the direction of her parents' small house.

Lord Lockwood was a little taken aback when Archie and Ursula greeted him with mere friendliness, instead of with awe. He was a duke, after all! At least, they called him 'My Lord,' as Margaret had explained, was the proper term of address. He'd expected to be depressing the pretensions of these upstarts, annoyed with the insistence of his son that he meet them. Oddly, they didn't appear to comprehend his importance in the scheme of things. Lockwood started taking more careful note of his surrounding, which showed evidence of wealth, and wealth that may not have been around for centuries, but at least, wealth that was taken for granted.

Margaret and Edward said that he should meet the boss, and Archie pointed, "In the garden."

Bellamy rose from his chair when he was introduced, shook his hand, and said, "Norman, isn't it? I'm Bellamy."

The duke gaped, but Bellamy only asked Edward to bring over a couple more chairs, and invited him to sit down. Edward brought over two more chairs. Margaret watched with amusement. Grandfather Harry could still assume an air of assured power when he chose.

"Morning tea, do you think?" Bellamy asked the duke.

Lockwood nodded, "Please."

"Margaret?" said Bellamy. "Ask Kitty or Louise, would you?" He added to Lockwood, "I've been ill. I don't usually expect people to run around after me."

Lockwood nodded. The young man did indeed look ill, and far too thin. He pulled himself together. "Margaret says you're her cousin."

Bellamy glanced at Margaret, who'd just returned. "That's right, not a first cousin, a little more distant than that." Margaret gave him a blinding smile. He'd given the right answer.

Lockwood asked Bellamy whether he hunted, and then started talking about hunting. "I need to buy a couple more hunters. Four mares are currently in foal to an escaped stallion," he said. "Some irresponsible neighbour, my man says."

Bellamy laughed. "It was a good stallion, though. And we didn't even charge you stud fees."

Lockwood said, "Ah..."

Kitty started putting out a generous morning tea, and watched approvingly as Bellamy offered scones to his visitors, and then helped himself, generously. He was far too thin again. "Great. Thanks, Kitty."

Kitty smiled fondly at him, totally ignoring the duke.

Edward started talking enthusiastically about Bellamy's horses, especially Sirius. "You should see Clare's paintings, too," he said to his father.

"What's her name," said his father disparagingly, trying to regain the upper hand that he'd somehow lost, almost from the first.

"Clare Dearborn," said Edward.

"Yes, but she doesn't paint under that name," said Margaret. "She always signs her paintings Clare de Silva, her maiden name."

That was news to John, who tried, as always, not to show that he hadn't known. The duke was staring. "_The _Clare de Silva?"

Bellamy raised his eyebrows. "I suppose. I don't know of any other."

The duke asked, quite humbly, "Can I see some of her paintings?"

It was Edward who answered. "It depends on what sort of a mood she's in. She's perfectly apt to tell us to go away and not be a nuisance," and he grinned at his father, "Lord or not!"

As it happened, Clare had her easel out, painting an Andalusian mare, heavy in foal, and with a young filly romping near. She just grunted assent when asked if her paintings could be viewed, and told them to help themselves. Margaret did the honours, taking out painting after painting. But when the duke asked if he could buy one for his wife, Clare told him irritably that she couldn't be bothered right now, and he could ask her another day. The duke drew back in affront, but found Bellamy's laughing eyes on him, and chose to be amused himself.

Two hours later, John and Norman were getting on like a house on fire, leaning on the fence of one of the Old Horses' Paddocks. Once retired, the old mares of the two studs were not kept separated, but the mares tended to separate themselves, enjoying the peaceful companionship of those whom they'd known all their lives. John pointed to a gathering of five white mares. "Some of those worked for Riding for the Disabled for a couple of years. They usually just walk around a bit, so it's not strenuous, but some of the adult riders are large and heavy, and need a big horse."

Lockwood said, "It'd probably be appreciated that they're still quite beautiful, too."

John nodded. "They're old, but they still have a grace."

He didn't mention the Line of Sheba. He knew by now that his home was supposed to be hidden, and no clues should be given. Pat stayed out of sight. She looked her age, and it might look odd that she was married to the young man who was the boss. John was looking more pale, and Victor, coming close, noticed that he clung to the fence and staggered slightly as he moved off, before recovering himself. Without saying anything, he led a pony to Bellamy. "Bit far for you, Boss. Best ride," he said laconically. He even gave him a boost.

"Thanks, Victor," said John, and Lockwood noticed that he was white, even sweating a touch.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Oh, yes," said John casually. "I'll be out galloping within a few days."

Lockwood gave him a piercing look, but then looked closely at the grey pony instead, to John's relief. "What's its breeding?" he almost demanded.

"Andalusian mare, pony stallion," answered John.

Lockwood stared. "You mated an Andalusian to a pony?"

"We needed ponies for the children," explained Bellamy, reasonably.

Lockwood shook his head. "That's almost heresy!" And when they went back that way, he closely inspected the Andalusian mares, until Clare grumbled loudly that they were disturbing her subjects. They were obviously top quality horses, worth a great deal of money. And they'd been casually mated to a pony stallion in order to provide ponies for the children to ride! Maybe young Margaret was an heiress.

A few days later, Margaret received a formal invitation to dinner at the country seat of a duke. It clashed with the Finch-Fletchleys' party for the descendants of the great wizard, but she couldn't take a medj to that, and so accepted.

***chapter end***


	27. Chapter 27

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/__Chapter 6: _

More precautions were taken, both for defence and for discretion, with the increased numbers of visitors. Medj visitors, especially Edward, should not be shocked by seeing wizards appear out of nowhere, so the apparation zone was shielded by a cane fence, with creepers planted next to it. A wave of Gabrielle's wand started them growing unnaturally quickly.

For security, there had to be always someone on duty watching the apparation zone, and now it was no longer in the open, a small cosy hut was erected close, warmed by magic. Most of the employees were competent at defence, and there were also the designated security guards, Katrina and Therese Abercrombie. Both Peter and Margaret played their part. Always someone watching the apparation zone, even at night, and another, usually riding with a couple of dogs at their heels, patrolling the estate. Only Kitty's husband, Sidney, had a fulltime job in London and didn't share the job. There were numerous gateways in the high fence now, but Pat reminded herself that any threat would most likely come from wizards, who could have merely used magic to make a hole in any case. Dogs ran at the heels of various employees, their job to bark a warning if strangers arrived.

John was still not strong, even a week after the illness subsided, though he'd made it out for a morning ride for the first time that day. He was outside talking to the mares, when there was a chorus of barking. A few minutes later, Victor escorted Bryce to where he stood. A couple of dogs romped around John, until he petted them, and sent them off. But then he leaned against the fence, coolly impassive, and raised his eyebrows, regarding the detested healer.

"Bellamy..." Bryce began. He knew that Bellamy didn't remember. He knew he was a sick and damaged man, and should not be blamed. He suddenly turned and paced jerkily a few steps, back and forward, as the cool eyes followed him. Abruptly, he turned to Bellamy. "You _have_ to remember me! I am your _friend! _You _know_ me, and it's_ killing _me that you refuse to know me!"

John was stunned. Bryce started again. "Bellamy... We _played_ together, you and me, we surfed together, we walked together, and discussed Nephrites Loculi, and the wizard, Jesus, and dragon breeding. We worked together. You _know _me, and you look at me as if I'm a stranger."

John looked at the ground. He didn't know what to say.

The stranger continued, almost crying, emotional. "I saw you hurt! They had you stunned, lying on the floor, and then again and again, memory modification, to wipe all memory. And then..." His voice quietened, and his agony was shown, "The Cha Keeyo Curse." He had tears in his eyes. "Three times it was done, and the second time, you screamed. I saw you destroyed, and yet you came back. I want you back as my friend." The emotional healer had tears running down his face. "_Please,_ Bellamy."

John was shamed. He'd been so stupid. After a pause, he said, "I'm sorry, Bryce. I didn't know."

Bryce took a couple of strides, and embraced his friend whom he'd lost, and just maybe, might be his friend again. John hugged him back. The man was crying. Bryce choked, "I went after her, but I never was any good at duelling, and I was defeated by a gardener. I didn't even see the witch."

For the first time, Bellamy felt a real anger toward the one who had changed his life, and his forehead scar was suddenly more prominent. "Is she still free, then?" he asked.

"Killed a few months ago by one of her own family, just a girl of fifteen, or so we heard."

No revenge, then, not for himself, not for John, who had lost his past.

"She left victims, didn't she? In Italy. Children."

Bryce nodded.

John spoke quietly, "When I work at doing magic, it makes me ill. But they say that no-one else can break the spells of the witch. Is that right?"

Bryce nodded again. "It was lucky I only saw the gardener. Lucasta Stonehouse was able to fix me."

John looked curious, and Bryce now just looked embarrassed. "Donkey ears. He said he'd never faced such an ass of a duellist."

John laughed, and Bryce, after a moment, laughed with him. "Morning tea?" And at morning tea, John finally heard the full story of the attack that had left him so damaged, though even tactless Bryce thought it best not to mention the rape. It wouldn't have meant too much to John. The damage that had left him a hollow man, a shell, was of far more importance than a rape which he'd never remember.

Pat was stunned when she came outside to see Bryce and Bellamy apparently the best of friends. Bryce was making wide gestures and looking happy, as he explained the rules of Verostic. John was interested, and said, "I'll have to go to a game, but Pat says I shouldn't go out yet, not until it appears I won't get sick again."

Bryce was suddenly the healer again. "Are you giving up on the magic?"

"I'll see Healer Borthwyck, see what she says. But even if she can't do anything, I'll probably persevere. The attacks decreased before when I was practising every day, and maybe each time the head pain strikes, it's because there's mending happening."

Bryce raised his eyebrows.

John gave a wry grin. "At least it helps a little if I think that."

Bryce said slowly, "You're not like everyone else. You could be right."

John said fervently, "I hope so." When he thought that the pain would come back, his spirit shrank. Last time he'd persevered, it had been because of his urgent need to escape. This time?

Bryce said, "Did you know that what you did to the Khatabi family was publicised afterward? Dieter said there was no longer any reason to keep silent about it. In your absence, the Americans gave you an award, the Rhees Trowner award, the highest available to them."

John was looking away. He still hated his ignorance being exposed. But he finally said, "You said a witch called Riza Khatabi cursed me, but what did I do to her family?"

Even to a highly qualified healer, the reality of total amnesia was difficult to comprehend. But Bryce passed on the story as best he could, and then said, "How about I ask Dieter to come? He was the only one you told, and would possibly know more than I do."

"Did Dieter see it, too? When the witch cursed me?"

Bryce spoke with difficulty, remembering the day, "Dieter and Jeremy and me. She had us tied up, so that we couldn't help. She wanted us to see the great wizard destroyed."

"_I'm_ the great wizard?"

Bryce said, surprised, "Of course!"

John had a lot to think about, and when Bryce, quite timidly, asked if he could examine him, he made no objection, to Pat's surprise, keeping track of her husband from a distance.

The following day it was Dieter who walked from behind the screened apparation zone. He looked every inch the powerful wizard, long grey hair, worn loose, and wearing his auror's cape that billowed behind him as he walked. Most of all, he wore that feeling of power that seemed natural to any mature wizard, and especially to an auror.

Edward stared, and looked his question at Margaret. Margaret asked him whether any of his mares had foaled yet, as the boss was interested in seeing the progeny of his strange looking horse. Edward closed his mouth, before answering that they were not due for a couple of months.

Dieter found John at the paddock with the two big Andalusian mares. One had a spotted filly foal. "Bryce said that you wanted to know exactly what happened when the witch attacked you." He spoke in a businesslike fashion.

John nodded, and then said, "Bryce made me realise. I'm sorry I've not been more friendly." John met his eyes, and then dropped them. "Pat told me we were close, you and I. But when I saw you the first time, I saw a picture of myself screaming on the floor. It worried me. But Bryce said that you witnessed it, and I think I misunderstood."

Dieter smiled, a gentle smile that looked out of place on his craggy face. "I think you must have done. I care about you a great deal, you know." But Dieter was very different from Bryce, and only said, in a matter-of-fact tone, "What do you want to know?"

"Have you got a bit of time?"

Dieter nodded, and Bellamy led the way to the lounge-room.

The discussion was long. John learned not only about the attack, but about those events preceding it, even Najia Khatabi. He laughed when he heard that she'd shared his room for several nights, danced as Salome for him, and yet she'd still been virgin. He shook his head. "Well, now I know why they called me the great wizard. I'm sure I wouldn't have that much self-control now!"

Dieter asked, "How much has Pat told you now, of what you've been?"

"Not a great deal, though I know now I'm very old." But he grinned ruefully, "Even though I feel more like a two year old, and sometimes act it!"

Dieter looked at him thoughtfully. "Do you remember saying that the Ministry had attacked you in the past?"

John nodded.

Dieter said, "It's quite true. So listen carefully, and I'll tell you what abilities are unique to you, or very rare. You always wanted to keep some things very quiet, because a wizard too powerful is a threat." He started by saying that no-one but himself had taken any notice of the hawk, and warning John that all animagi were supposed to be registered, but that he might not choose to do that. "I didn't know myself that you could do that, and I worked with you for many years."

John was listening carefully. He knew very well how dangerous it was to show unusual abilities, but didn't know sometimes, what were unusual abilities in this society.

Dieter went on to tell him what a normal apparation range was, that only Bellamy could ignore anti-disapparation charms, that telepathy was very rare indeed, that no-one else could have done what he did to the Khatabi family, and finished with the basic rule, that wizards and witches invariably needed their wands in order to work strong, directed magic. "You always pretended to use a wand," he said. "Even though we knew you didn't really need it. I guess you thought you might still live a long time and people might forget."

John said, quite casually, "I can't live too much longer, there's no bits of me left now that don't bear scars."

Dieter clapped him on the shoulder. "Plenty of room for new scars."

The discussion turned to the cleaning up operation needed after John escaped from Facility 19. "There's still film, we know, in the hands of a certain government agency, still soldiers who remember you, any who were not at the base when we visited, still reports that talk about you. We did the best we could, and now we just have to hope for the best."

John frowned at him. "Why don't you just use magic to vanish any film that shows me? Reports too."

Dieter smiled. "We can't do that, not without finding it first."

"Isn't there a spell?"

Dieter spoke to the great wizard, carefully. "Certain skilled wizards might be able to use a spell on an object in front of them, and all the identical objects are changed in the same way. But that's the limit, and these bits of film are not identical. But you... Magic always seemed to work differently for you. You used to be able to teach it, but you always forgot incantations and specified wand movements, even when you were a teenager, or so the story goes."

"Film, reports, soldiers who remember, and presumably others in that mysterious agency," said Bellamy. "Is that it?"

Dieter nodded. Bellamy leaned back in his favourite chair. Dieter waited respectfully.

"When I started to relearn magic, I didn't know what it was. But it was the only way I might have a chance of escape. For a long time, I'd try, and nothing would happen, but then I had a clue, and suddenly it started working." He grinned. "I nearly fell out of my tree the first time!"

"You climbed trees a lot," Dieter commented.

"It was the only place I could get a little privacy, and then only in the summer." He glanced at Dieter, and then looked away again. He was still uncomfortable talking about his magic. "What I'd do is wish for what I wanted, and then make the magic. I never knew what was possible, or whether it was working sometimes, because I couldn't risk the guards or the cameras seeing what I was doing."

He looked directly at Dieter, suddenly perfectly businesslike. "Is there a list of soldiers who were not on the base, who escaped having their memories modified?"

Dieter nodded. "We had a full list of the soldiers who worked there, and struck each one off as they were tended to."

"Can you show me the spell?"

Dieter demonstrated on a vase of flowers. "You have to think very carefully what you want them to remember. You have to limit it, and not do too much, or they just wind up with an addled brain."

Bellamy shook his head. "Maybe it's too difficult. I don't want to damage anybody."

From a couple of instances in the past, Dieter knew what Bellamy was capable of, or had been capable of. He said, "I'll bring you the list, and you could try on someone you don't like to begin with, maybe that Forster bastard. And after all, you can always undo it if it doesn't work properly."

Bellamy looked up. "I can undo it?" Suddenly, hopefully, John said, "Do you think I can fix myself then?"

Dieter grinned, "If anyone can, you can!"

"Straight away? You can get the list?"

Dieter nodded and said, "If you can do it, do the memories first, then the film, then the reports."

"I'll wait for you," and he waited as Dieter strode to the apparation zone, and ten minutes later, reappeared with a brown envelope in hand. Bellamy held out his hand, thanked him, and turned.

Dieter watched him go. Why was he looking frightened? He was trembling, too, but that mightn't mean anything. Surely he could either do it, or not do it. Dieter turned to go, suddenly noticing Pat looking at him. She wore an anxious frown.

Meantime, Bellamy took himself to a spare bedroom upstairs, hoping not to be disturbed. He even put a sign on the door, _'Do not disturb.'_ He looked around. He needed his own chair, and when the need was there and his mind was still on other things, a chair was conjured automatically, a comfortable, high-backed armchair of a design that he'd first made for himself when he was still at school.

Scarcely noticing what he'd done, he sat in the chair, pulled two sheets of paper out of the large envelope, and set the envelope down on the small table that appeared at his side. Twenty-eight names on one, and then a separate sheet with another thirty-two names. It was headed B Force. He didn't know any of those, although he knew many of the soldiers on the first list, especially Nicholas and Peter who'd guarded him so warily those last weeks. Forster wasn't on either list, but Forster had only relieved.

Bellamy leaned back in his chair, and thought of Colonel Jarred Forster. He knew the feel of Forster, had known when Forster had watched him in the shower, with something a bit different from intellectual curiosity. It was first thing in the morning in America. Coincidentally, Forster was at _his_ shower, afterward inspecting a painful boil on his forearm. Forster felt so tired and old. Bellamy wished that the boils would no longer appear, and made the magic, and then he thought carefully about John Doe, and wished that Forster would forget that he ever knew of a man he called John Doe, or referred to as the subject.

Forster finished drying himself, and then rebandaged a painful area on his leg. Bellamy had to check. Had he done anything or not? Through Forster's eyes, he saw a middle-aged woman come into the bathroom. Through Forster's ears, he heard, "Do you want me to dress the one on your back?"

Bellamy exerted his will, and Mrs. Forster asked, "Do you know anyone by the name of John Doe?"

Forster answered, "Don't be silly. That's just a name for an unidentified hospital patient or an unidentified body." Triumph. Bellamy left Forster, and glanced at the next name on his list.

An hour later, just to check, Pat opened the door a crack. Bellamy didn't notice, holding a piece of paper in his hands, and leaning his head back with his eyes closed. Pat had seen this before, and silently closed the door. The great wizard was working his magic.

Bellamy visited as many of the people on the list that he knew well enough, but there were a lot that he didn't know, and a few that he failed to find, maybe because he only knew them slightly. And there must be more in that Agency. Bellamy thought. He couldn't visit the minds of people he didn't know. What if he just wished that every medj in America who had known him, would now forget him. Not Clare, though. Somehow he wanted to be remembered by Clare.

Dieter would have said it was impossible. Bellamy was very careful, very specific, and then he made the magic. There was no way for him to know if he was successful.

The reports then. Any report or other piece of writing that mentioned him as the John Doe, or as the subject. Then the film. He couldn't think of any valid reason for the Ministry to hold on to those humiliating pieces of film, so they were all wiped as well. And then he took a deep breath, vanished the notice on the door, and left the quiet room, staggering slightly with fatigue. He'd have to pay, but he thought he'd achieved success, and was very pleased with himself.

At the Ministry, McMillan had been watching a piece of film of John throwing around a chair by a handcuffed wrist. Four prone men were watching him with very worried eyes, too frightened to move. The film went blank. He started it again, but gave up and tried another of his favourites, film of John's lightning move as he broke the jaw of Forster. He liked this sort of film, where the great wizard was reduced to mere mortal, and yet triumphed over the medj. But he'd have to find himself other amusements now. The film was mysteriously blank.

The following day, Dieter found Bellamy almost in the same place, inspecting a new foal, another spotted filly, dropped by the second Andalusian mare. Dieter had a smile all over his face and shook his hand very firmly, as he crowed, "Certain people are mad as hell at the Ministry. All the film of you has been wiped. And someone's detailed reports are now blank pages!" He beamed. "You did it. If our stuff is gone, almost certainly all the American stuff is gone!"

John smiled, quite proud of himself, "I think I did the memories, too."

Dieter abandoned his self control and hugged him, "You're going to come back, as good as ever!"

But two days later, Bryce told him that Bellamy was very ill again.

It happened not long after Margaret and John raced again, this time over a course they'd devised that included several high fences to jump. Sirius was faster on the flat, but the jumps slowed God Wot? scarcely at all. John was feeling strong and filled with the joy of life. God Wot? won, which meant that Margaret had to put away the horses. It happened as he strolled over towards where Clare painted, and hit harder than ever. Clare was the appalled witness as he rolled over and over in his agony, clutching his head and then started fitting.

Pat called Bryce, and paced in her anxiety. There had been too little time for him to recover from the last bout, and he was still far too thin, even though just the previous day he had declared himself totally fit.

Attack followed attack in the next week, usually just minutes after he woke. He had no time to eat, and he lost more and more weight. There was a spell to get a small amount of pure water into an unconscious person, but it didn't work for either food or potions. Bryce refused to allow Isaac to use a nasogastric tube to get some nourishment into him, as such an invasion of a person's body was against everything he'd been taught. But after the first few days, he allowed him to put in an intravenous drip as he watched closely. He would die if something wasn't done soon.

Bryce had his own duties, but Isaac didn't. When he asked, Pat agreed. He could stay with them for a time and help look after her husband. Pat was medj, and had more faith in medj medicine than Bryce or Ursula did, though she knew that healing spells worked brilliantly for a lot of things.

It was just Isaac, sitting quietly in the room when John stirred. "Isaac," he said, in a tone of acceptance.

Isaac crossed his fingers he wouldn't notice that there was a drip in his arm, and asked if he should call Pat.

John weakly shook his head, "She won't want me any more. I'll have to go away."

Isaac assured him that he was wanted, but John said, "I get sick all the time. How could she want me?"

Isaac said, "She loves you. She wants you."

John was quiet, and Isaac had it in his mind to try and feed him some soup.

But John spoke again. "She doesn't want me in her bedroom any more."

Isaac came and gripped his hand. "She loves you. She can't be with you in bed because you start to fit when you're disturbed."

John's eyes were fixed painfully on his, looking and feeling to see the truth of his words. At last he sighed, and admitted, "I hate to fit."

"At least it's a relief from the pain."

"The pain's still there when I have a fit, like an axe that keeps hitting, but just in the distance a little."

Isaac shook his head. Everyone knew that an epileptic never remembered his fits, but asked, "Do you think you might like to eat something?"

John turned his head away, and whispered, "I can't. There's no time," and the pain was back again.

Isaac told Pat and Bryce what he'd said. Bryce said indignantly, "He never talks to _me_ like that!"

Isaac said, "You forget. He knows me a lot better than you, all his life, in fact, in his own mind."

Pat's eyes teared. He knew this man better than he did his own wife, and it was the man who'd mistreated him.

Isaac saw her upset, and said, "Mind you, it's the first time ever, he has spoken to me like that. At the other place, he refused to answer me if I even ventured to ask him how he was!"

Pat smiled a little, but asked, "He really thinks that I won't want him?"

"You'll have to tell him again and again. Tell him while he's unconscious so that he can't argue, but it will gradually seep in anyway."

"He used to say there's always some consciousness retained. But maybe that's just him. There's been times before when he's answered me, and he shouldn't have been able to."

Pat followed Isaac's advice. She told him, again and again, when he was unconscious and in the brief intervals between attacks. He was pitifully weak, and seemed dazed, still not noticing that there was a drip in his arm.

As soon as there started to be enough time to feed him between attacks. Isaac quietly removed the drip as he slept. He was getting better. It hadn't been the worst ever attack, he'd been sick longer, but there had been too little time to recover between attacks, and Isaac hadn't seen him with so little strength since he'd first been put in charge of him.

Paul brought over six mares, heavily in foal, all their own mares who had been mated to God Wot? Once the boss was a bit better, he would enjoy seeing the foals close.

Norm Lockwood rode over one day, with his son, but Archie just said that it was out of the question for either of them to see the boss. He agreed to pass on the invitation to visit and see the horses, though, as soon as he was well. And the castle, if he wanted to.

Ursula told John as he sat out of his bed and tried to eat a meal, getting some nourishment before the next attack. She moved about the room, changing the bed with a flick of the wand, opening a window, and letting some warm spring sunshine into the room. He always wanted a shower, but now Ursula would refuse until he had something to eat. He was far too thin. He always sweated when in pain, so she cleaned him with another flick of the wand, though he flinched when he felt the magic on him.

"The kids will be back tomorrow for Easter," she remarked.

John looked up with a smile of pleasure. "It'll be nice to see them. The Christmas holiday for them was so short."

"This one's short, too, but there's two full months in July and August, of course." They still tried to add explanations, as they never knew what the boss would know, and what he wouldn't know. And they all knew by now, that he often pretended to know, when he didn't at all.

John did manage a shower, and even went outside. "It's full spring, now," he said.

Ursula peered at the new lambs, playing King of the Castle on a mound in their paddock. "Look at the lambs," she told him, and John looked, seeing them because Ursula looked. She nodded to herself. Isaac was right. He was borrowing images from other people's minds, and didn't realise it himself. She said, "We'd best go back inside now."

John sighed. "Life's pretty tough sometimes, isn't it?" But he obeyed her. Ursula seemed to have a sixth sense. She knew how tired he was, and even seemed to know when the pain was about to hit. Ursula installed him in his chair by the window, and he looked at the sunshine.

She left him alone for a little, just checking the RAB 3 in her hand, out of his sight, until she knew that it was time he went back to bed. Isaac had shown her the subtle change in the readings that was the warning. It had been a surprise when Isaac pulled out the RAB one day, and discovered that it still worked. They'd assumed that John had destroyed it long ago. But it was invaluable now. On Isaac's advice, she hadn't told anyone else that she had it, not even Pat, in case he heard their thoughts.

Bellamy had worked strong and difficult magic, and paid for it, but that was the last attack of that series, and it finally seemed to be over.

***chapter end***


	28. Chapter 28

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/__Chapter 7: _

When Susan, Lesley and Mary arrived home from school for the Easter break, they found their father, still pitifully weak, sitting outside in the sunshine. Mary took him over straight away, bossily organising a tray, so he could eat outside in the spring warmth, and finding an umbrella, to keep him from getting too much sun. He was spoiled, and thought it not too bad to be sick like this, when it was only weakness, not agony.

Edward and Margaret led the two Andalusian mares close the day after, so he could talk to them, and with their spotted fillies. "So cute," said Lesley adoringly. God Wot? regularly joined him, jumping the fence, once waking him with a snort in his face when he didn't get a greeting because the boss was dozing. There always seemed to be cats around, too. Cats were not much good for helping him see. Too often they just tended to find a comfortable spot, often on his lap, start to purr, and then close their eyes and go to sleep.

He told Pat that it was time she stopped trying to protect him, and now Pat and the girls spoke about his world, reading to him about himself, stories of past achievements and past scandals, even. He'd been astounded when Lesley told him she was doing him in History of Magic, and even more so when Pat mentioned the books that were written about him.

The biggest surprise for him was when, one evening, Pat took out a recently published book, and started reading bits. 'Descendants of the Great Wizard,' - the main families, Abercrombies, Davenports, Bournes, lesser numbers of Parkers and Potters.

"Sidney and his boys are Bournes," commented John.

Pat nodded. "They're descendants, and so is Ursula and therefore Peter, Margaret and Oliver."

Susan added, "Katrina and Therese are Abercrombies."

"They're married, of course, but female Abercrombies nearly always keep their maiden name."

John asked the question he'd been afraid of: "Just exactly how old am I?"

When Pat told him, Susan looked up again from the book she was reading, and said casually that if he was a stallion, they'd call him a Foundation Sire.

John was looking acutely uncomfortable. Lesley was suddenly a touch malicious, and said casually, "There's the families descended from illegitimate children, too, of course. The Swedish ones, and the Stonehouses. And then there was Spectra McFiddan."

Pat said severely, "That's enough!" But Lesley noted with satisfaction that her father was now bright scarlet. She was of an age to be judgemental, and would have preferred that she and her sisters be the _only_ children of Bellamy.

Pat soon changed the subject, "Isn't it time for bed, girls?"

But afterward, she did tell him about Yvette, in France, mentioning that he'd not long stopped paying Child Support, but that Yvette's parents had never told her she was not, strictly speaking, their own child. "So we can forget about that," Pat said.

They were in bed, but John didn't reach to put out the light. Pat waited. "Was I awful?" he finally asked. "Surely respectable men don't have illegitimate children."

Pat said calmly that she was his fourth wife, and it was said that he always adored his wives, and was never unfaithful. But that he'd spent long years single, and she stroked his face, "And you know how you've always loved sex."

John smiled. He did enjoy sex, but he was still troubled. "I thought women knew how not to get pregnant."

"They do know, but maybe you're special there, too." But then she kissed him. "You told me once that at least none of those children appeared to be unwanted. And most you only found out about when they were grown. The Stonehouse sisters, for instance, are descended from a pair of witches who quite deliberately seduced you, and reputedly adored their babies."

"I had three other wives, and I loved them, you said."

Pat nodded.

"I guess they're lost forever then, now," John said sadly.

_**x**_

It was the day before the Easter horse show. Oliver, Ross and Ryan pestered Victor to take them, but Victor said that it was a big show, too far away, and none of them could ride well enough to warrant the trip. Grumpily the boys wandered away, and then started playing dams in a water hole instead, soon joined by two girls whose father worked for Paul, but was now talking to Victor.

The work of dam building was proceeding with enthusiasm and industry, Melanie, Maria and Oliver working close, the girls happily accepting his leadership. Ross looked at them resentfully, and quite suddenly referred to the horse show again. "We'll be giving up that sort of thing after we go to Hogwarts, of course. It's not something that wizards do!" He glanced spitefully at Oliver, and said, "Of course, _squibs_ might like to continue."

Melanie looked surprised at Oliver, "Don't you have magic?"

Oliver said simply, "No."

Melanie dropped her eyes. How shameful.

Oliver stood up. "Just have to check on the boss, make sure he doesn't need me." He didn't go back.

_**x**_

The annual Ministry Ball was held Easter Saturday. Pat wasn't sure whether she wanted to attend, but Susan very much wanted to attend, and Pat thought she'd best be there to make sure her liveliness didn't get her into trouble. Peter, Margaret and Sidney all had the skill of apparating with a passenger, though it was a rare skill except amongst aurors, for whom it was a job requirement.

John had never seen Pat in robes before, or not that he remembered. It made the tall woman with the plain, strong boned face look so impressive. He told her, sincerely, that she was beautiful. Pat laughed. He'd always said that, even before he was half blind!

Susan wanted her share of attention, and flaunted herself, swishing her robes as she walked up and down in front of him, until she felt sufficiently admired. But it was seeing Peter and Sidney in their robes that impressed him more. They were familiar to him now, but they were always in quite casual clothes, occasionally capes when it was cold, but the wizard dress robes were so very impressive. Tall Peter wore tan velvet, the dress part with embroidery in shades of brown touched with gold, and the full robe that swirled over it, matching, with more embroidery around the deep sleeves. Sidney Bourne had the same colouring as his illustrious ancestor, black hair and green eyes. He wore robes of bottle green, even more elaborate and expensive than those of Peter.

With the robes, it seemed they became rather more than the men John knew. They were wizards and looked like wizards. It helped John know that he was not a Martian, or a prisoner who just might have telekinesis, but that he was a wizard too, and could work magic. It was another step back from being John, the sickly prisoner, to Bellamy, the great wizard. There was a long way to go.

A few days later, with Susan, Victor, Margaret and Edward, he rode all the way to where a high cliff overlooked the sea. He was still very thin, but his face was vivid in his enjoyment. God Wot? was saddled and bridled for a change, as Pat pointed out that he was really too conspicuous when he didn't ride in a conventional manner. It was too far for him, and he came back very tired, but told Pat that he didn't regret it in the slightest.

Oliver waited for him in the morning, to tell him that the first foal of God Wot? had been born overnight. They admired the dark foal together. Luke, leaning against the door of the Bourne's house, nudged Ross and pointed, and they went to join the group, trying to edge out Oliver. Victor strolled over. He knew exactly what was going on. When he was growing up without magic, he'd endured the same, and worse, and now invited Oliver to join him when he went into town. Oliver glanced at the boss, and nodded. The others would all be out of his hair after September. The sooner the better, he thought.

There was another expedition, to the animal pound. Bellamy was to get himself a dog. Archie would be driving, and Oliver was going, too. He chose to use a horsebox, and loaded a large number of cages, for cats and dogs, into the back. Bellamy wouldn't remember, but Archie told Oliver about the last expedition to the pound. The boss had refused to leave behind any dogs or cats to be put down, no matter how useless or ugly.

Oliver grinned at his grandfather. "He was telling us how he tried to live off the land when he had no food or money. He said there were no berries and no nuts, and he conjured bread rolls, but they tasted dreadful, and then he made a rabbit die, in order to have it for dinner." Oliver started laughing, "And then he said he was sorry for it and buried it instead."

Archie pulled his grandson close, and hugged him, saying, "That's why we look after him. Not because he's the great wizard, but because he's our Bellamy."

As it happened they came home with only three dogs, though eight cats, and there were already far too many cats. But John was delighted with his new pets, happily saying that if Pat let him, he'd keep them all for himself. There was a Dalmatian that seemed to have no brains whatsoever, an elderly bitch that could barely see, but a young dog called Trey, that was thought to have sheep-dog in him.

Pat smiled indulgently on her soft-hearted husband, and allowed him to keep all the dogs, and the two cats that remained after various members of the staff had their pick. She was only grateful that there were not more than two extra cats to walk all over him.

Dieter dropped in later that same day, and John asked if he'd mind teaching him apparation. He reddened as he asked, but he was even more embarrassed to ask anyone else. Dieter hid his surprise, and only said that they'd have to go to the apparation zone. John asked why, and for the first time, learned that apparating in that particular area wasn't just courtesy, but that the rest of his property was protected by anti-apparation charms. "And they're yours of course, and no-one can undo your spells."

John said nothing, unwilling to ask. Dieter repeated the new information. "Your spells are more powerful than anyone else's. If _you _cursed somebody, only you could take off the curse. Sometimes, if you make a particular spell, you put a time limit on it, so that if something happens to you, it won't be permanent."

They were walking towards the apparation zone, followed by the Dalmatian. John was pleased that it was screened, and had every intention of sending away Therese who was currently watching it.

"We found Jarred Forster, by the way. He no longer has boils, is back at work, and has no memory of anyone called John Doe." He grinned at his friend, "You might not be confident apparating, but that was a bit of magic that no-one else could have done."

John returned the grin. "I shouldn't really be embarrassed at needing lessons then, should I?"

Dieter said seriously, "Bellamy, you were subject to the Cha Keeyo Curse. It should have turned you into a vegetable. Bryce thinks you might have somehow shielded yourself from the worst of it when the witch told us what she was about to do. However it happened, it's a miracle you're with us again, and knowing more every day."

John was uncomfortable, and pointed at the dog. "I called him 'Forster' as he's spotty, too, and has no brains."

Forster suddenly noticed a spotted foal, streaked towards it, and got himself bowled over with a kick from the mare. John hurried after him, and Dieter watched as he passed a hand over the whimpering dog, healed its broken ribs, and conjured a collar and lead. "I thought I could tame any animal," he said, "But this one, whatever he knows goes straight out of his head the moment he sees anything interesting!"

Dieter laughed. He didn't know that Bellamy was already worrying about the punishment for his magic.

Potential punishment or not, he watched closely as Dieter demonstrated, listened carefully as he explained, and then did it himself, just going from one side of the area to another, as Dieter had done. Dieter had made a crack in the air. Bellamy's apparation was silent, as it had been ever since he'd worked on the skill at the age of seventeen.

Dieter smiled all over his face. "You didn't need lessons. Not only can you do it, you make no noise, and that's always been your trademark - silent apparation. Not unique, but rare."

John was smiling too, all over his face. "You said that you have to have a destination clear in your mind. I guess that's why I couldn't do it again when I landed at the foot of my tree. I just tried to go _away._"

Dieter was businesslike again as he tried to explain apparation coordinates and apparation maps. "I can't see to read," John pointed out. "I think maps might be beyond me."

"Has a healer had a go yet?"

John said, "No, not yet," but his voice was doubtful.

That evening, Pat said, "You're well enough now, but I think I'll ask Nancy Borthwyck if she'll come here rather than us going to London, just in case."

John looked down.

Pat watched his face, "She's a very highly qualified healer, and at the least, she'll almost certainly be able to fix your eyesight."

John touched the old dog beside him. Wilma liked to stay very close, and even Wilma helped him see. Pat made an irritated noise as Forster made a puddle. "I thought you were going to train that dog."

"It doesn't seem to stick. He's got nothing between his ears!" He waved his wand and the puddle vanished.

"Are you using magic now?"

"Not much, just now and then," John said, and asked, "The healer - can she wait until the girls are back at school?"

"If you want."

John nodded gratefully, and admitted, shame-faced, "I'm nervous - frightened she'll make things worse."

Pat said reassuringly, "There's not the slightest reason to think any such thing. Nancy is a very highly regarded healer."

The children went back to school, and John met the healer wearing a calm expression, and trying to conceal a slight trembling attack. Nancy was dressed blatantly as a witch, even with a peaked hat, but luckily, no medj were about. She gave John a shrewd look as she was introduced, and said that they should go inside and sit down. Trey trotted at his heels, and Wilma sat on John's feet as soon as he sat. John put his hand down, touching the shaggy fur and feeling better. Forster was outside, interfering in Defence Practice.

Nancy put John through a detailed questioning. Pat listened, keeping right out of it. She learned a few things new to her. John was trying to cooperate fully. The Cha Keeyo Curse, three times. Memory modification, repeatedly. Bajet Stun Curse, but he couldn't remember how many times Dieter had said. Coma for over three months.

"Three months!" Nancy exclaimed. "Why didn't you starve to death?"

"Medj hospital," said Bellamy. "They're not the same."

Pat said softly, "I didn't realise it was so long."

"And then?"

"I started waking up, for only short times to begin with, and then started to become stronger, and then went down to the pain for the first time."

"Isaac and Bryce have filled me in about those attacks," said Nancy. "Also about your eyesight. That you can barely see sometimes, and yet seem to see perfectly well at other times."

John nodded, "Pretty much."

Nancy didn't say anything about Isaac's theories. It sounded too farfetched to her. "Full examination," she announced. "Shirt off."

She glanced at his ribs, still far too clearly visible, and then took his weight, another sensor, no need for scales. The Niscos, niv, sec, deighters, even before getting to the head, and there were several careful checks as sensors were touched to particular spots on his head. "There's some brain damage," Nancy said, "But I've checked old records, and you've had that for just about forever. There's only some very slight traces of something new."

"They put something in his head," Pat put in.

Nancy nodded. "I know about that." She turned a very penetrating look at John. "How did you get rid of it?"

"I made the pain stop. I don't know what I did exactly."

"Well, it appears you vanished a device in your head, complete with some quite long wires and sensors, and left scarcely a trace, and did no other damage. And that while you were apparently in terrible pain." She smiled at him, almost possessively. "You're our great wizard. You don't even realise yourself how incredible are the things you do."

John was looking uncomfortably at Pat, but she only came to him, sat on the edge of his chair, and said, "A pity you can't train Forster to be a bit better behaved."

John smiled, relieved. He didn't like being not ordinary.

Nancy pulled out her wand. He started to tremble. Nancy looked at him thoughtfully and put her wand down. "In America, apparently, you suddenly became nervous, and sent Pat and Mary home."

John was regarding the wand, and answered almost automatically, "They wanted Mary."

Pat said, "What?"

John looked surprised and confused. "I don't know. I don't remember."

Pat was still staring. "You never gave a hint to me at the time that you thought they might want Mary."

John rose from his chair, leaned against the wall, and assumed his expressionless pose. He didn't know what to say, what to do. Pat knew the meaning of that pose, joined him, and slipped an arm around his waist. "Don't worry about it. It's only like when you suddenly said the Ministry tried to kill you now and then."

John looked at her gratefully, and said, "I'm sorry."

Pat squeezed him. "There's nothing to apologise for."

Nancy was tapping her wand, and Johns' eyes were irresistibly drawn to it. Nancy leaned forward. "Bellamy, I want you to be totally truthful. How do you feel about it when I say I'll make a spell to improve your eyesight?"

John didn't answer. Pat squeezed him again.

He looked frankly at Nancy, "It frightens me badly. I don't want any spells on my eyes or my head."

Nancy put away her wand. "I won't do anything then."

Pat looked surprised, and Nancy explained. "Bellamy has always had an instinct for danger, more than telepathy. He would never have survived his early life if he hadn't had that. If he's frightened of a spell that should be only helpful, it is very possible that he's right. So all I'll do is send a bill for a consultation."

John heaved a great sigh of relief, looked at the healer, and said, "Thank you."

She looked at him with a gleam of humour. "I'm expensive."

John was full of good humour, now, and it was lucky that Nancy liked animals, as she was expected to admire the flock of ewes and lambs, as well as the mares and foals, especially the two spotted foals, looking a touch incongruous next to their high class mothers. And then John whistled, and God Wot? jumped a fence to be admired, too.

***chapter end***


	29. Chapter 29

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belongs to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/__Chapter 8:_

John was full of good humour and optimism. He would learn to do magic, and after a while, it would not result in illness. Every morning, he could be found sitting on the corner of Alison's mail sorting table, and Alison would read him letters. He was soaking up knowledge like a sponge, and began to ask questions, rather than trying to pretend he didn't need to ask questions.

Forster became better behaved, at least house trained, though he was fascinated with the spotted foals, and was kicked twice more before the mares started tolerating an approach provided he made it slowly, on his belly. Trey was a bright dog, was with John all day, and was fast enough to run with him when he rode his horse. Old Wilma was less active, but he liked to caress her rough, furry coat, and she became very dear to him. Wilma was very content to spend evenings next to his armchair.

He went over to Lockwood's place one day, and was entertained very well by the duke, who was attired in natty 'Country Gentleman' wear, while John wore jeans, bright red shirt, and wore his long hair tied back in a pony tail. It never occurred to John that he should feel inferior in this company, just as it never occurred to Margaret.

He was shown the castle, although Lockwood glanced disapprovingly at Trey at his heels. Still, he didn't say anything, and the dog was perfectly well behaved. The castle was grand, but it was a faded grandeur, and Lockwood was very conscious of the many repairs that were needed and that he couldn't afford. And because Lockwood saw where money needed to be spent, then John did, too.

He asked Alison later that day whether they had a million pounds or so to spare. If Margaret married Edward, he didn't want her home tumbling down around her ears. Alison didn't ask why, only said they'd have to sell a few investments, but that was a small matter.

He mentioned it to Pat later, who only said that Edward had lasted far longer than any of Margaret's previous boyfriends. She started to laugh. "I'd like to see the scene when she just happens to mention that she's a witch."

It was running through Margaret's mind a lot lately. It would really be a lot simpler if she just married a man from her own world. Edward's mother said the same thing to him. "A nice girl from a family we know. After all, Margaret seems to come from a very odd background."

John decided that the possibility of sudden illness shouldn't stop him doing what he wanted to do, and since Pat tried to put as few constraints on him as possible, he made a few visits by car to nearby towns, usually driven by Pat or Victor. Also twice to a beach, though Pat talked him out of swimming. Testing afterward, he found that he could confidently apparate to any place that he'd been, and knew. His experiences in life were so few. He'd been hardly anywhere, he thought. And always, every day, he practised magic, putting away his self-consciousness, and having Archie demonstrate spells for him. It seemed odd to the staff when he joined the Defence classes, but they tried not to make him uncomfortable. He was erratic sometimes, and at first they thought it was because he forgot incantations when something failed to work. But after a bit, it seemed that his own method combined better with the more traditional method, and suddenly, it seemed, he could do anything he attempted. He was very pleased with himself after stunning the twenty sheep simultaneously, and said happily to an awed Peter, that now he could maybe learn to break spells again.

That evening, Pat brought two identical books from the library. "They're called _Breaking the 'Unbreakable' Spells,"_ she told him. "You wrote it a long time ago, and it's how the Stonehouse sisters learned when you were not here to teach them. There's some telepathic instructions attached, they told me, so if you touch the pages, you might be able to feel that, as I read."

John touched the pages. Pat started to read the introduction. That others should try and learn the skill. That there should not be just one. John was very quiet, and Pat just read, only stopping sometimes to help him find the page that she was reading. He spoke once. "It feels a little like me, and a little like someone else entirely."

Pat glanced up. "As I said, it was written a very long time ago. We all change as we grow, and you've had more experiences and more growing than most of us."

Every evening for an hour or so, Pat read, and John felt the pages, feeling his own messages. There was work he needed to do, he felt, and adopted another new custom, an hour before breakfast, every day, in his chair, just thinking, and trying to know himself a bit better. Maybe there was damage that he could fix. But his head still felt like a black hole, where his past, and even a lot of himself, should have been.

He was working hard at his magic, thinking sometimes about a little Italian girl who looked funny and couldn't walk, but also that he needed to do it for himself. Pat watched and didn't interfere. She, too, thought the pain attacks were caused by his attempts to use magic. But he was the great wizard. She would not interfere, though she was sure that no-one else would have had the courage (or the stupidity?) to knowingly provoke such extreme pain.

It had been more than a month since John was last ill. Maybe it would never happen again. He was well, even now far too thin, but not as bad as he'd been. Happy and sociable, spending time with Oliver, with Peter, Margaret, Archie, all the others, as well as with Norm Lockwood, who talked endlessly about horses, sometimes about land husbandry, and sometimes about medj politics and the difficulties of being a duke in a modern world.

Two years had been missed, and the Line of Sheba yearlings had to be sorted, some culled. Paul told John firmly that now was the time, that he'd soon remember exactly how to do it.

They first showed him two young black horses, one led by Marcus, one by an employee. One was a filly, small enough that she was only just categorised as horse rather than pony. Another was a superb colt, that danced and arched his neck. "Talk to them," Paul said. "Tell me what you think."

John crooned to the filly, stroking her, talking to her. And then he went to the colt, and looked worried. "You said I picked them for brains," he said.

Paul waited. John was suddenly definite. "He might look good, and I can feel how healthy he is. But he's not a brainy horse."

Paul nodded. "Geld him," he told Cameron. "We'll sell him and not as Line of Sheba." He grinned at John. "It's exactly what you said three years ago. You still know."

John was relieved, and went among the yearlings, the two year olds, and the three year olds. Afterwards, twenty-one young horses had been separated from the others. "Quite a sale we'll be having," said Paul, and refrained from arguing. Bellamy still sometimes acted as if quite unsure of himself. His confidence should not be undermined. Beside, the boss always did know about horses. The black colt was fast, but had proven to be very ordinary in the brains department. There were scars from when he'd fallen into a creek, then panicked and got himself entangled in a fence.

John had no companions that day, except for Trey, as he was only going next door, and Paul knew to give them a ring when he left. Ursula still had the RAB, too.

When John fell from God Wot? and lay on the road, helpless and in agony, Trey licked his face, and then lay down close. God Wot? stood next to him. Only five minutes afterward, a car driven by a nearby farmer braked hard and drew to a halt. The horse snorted at him and didn't move. Cecil Arbuckle stared at the odd coloured horse before noticing the fallen man almost underneath his hoofs. "Did you fall? Are you hurt?"

John tried to tell him just to go away, but couldn't seem to get out the words.

The farmer looked up in relief as a panel van pulled up, and Ursula took charge. "I'm afraid he'll have to be moved this time. He can't be left where he might be run over." She glanced at the farmer. "A type of epilepsy, nothing to be concerned about."

But the farmer couldn't take his eyes off the tortured man's face. His voice was weak. "I think he just died."

Ursula glanced at John, and gave a sigh of relief. "He's fainted. He'll be right now."

Victor and Peter cantered up on their horses, and Cec, pronounced 'Seece,' held the horses as John was lifted into the back of the vehicle where a soft bed was already made up. Ursula nodded to the farmer. "We live at the house just up the road. Drop in later this afternoon if you want, and we'll tell you how he is."

The attack didn't last long, and John was up and about an hour later, a bit shaky and thoroughly ashamed of himself, as he always was when he'd been ill. He thanked his helpers, pleased that Ursula didn't seem to be worrying. Pat was out for the day, and he was pleased about that, too. If he had more warning, he thought he'd hide if he knew he was going down, and not come out until it was over. Hardly possible, of course, if it went on for weeks, but he reminded himself that an attack that only lasted an hour or two was much more typical.

When Cec called to ask about him, Victor pointed him to where John and Alison leaned against a fence. Alison had been firmly told that she had to see the new foals, the first foals of God Wot? To everyone's relief but John's, the six foals were all solid coloured. None of them looked as ludicrous as their sire. Cec was not interested in horses, and he exchanged amused glances with Alison, as Bellamy said that a particular brown filly was the best they'd bred for years. A message came to John from Oliver, just back from school. Ursula asked that he go back to the house, as she wanted to check him over again.

John sighed and turned away, only saying to Cec that it was a pest, sometimes, to be looked after too well. Trey was at his heels, but Forster was lying down next to one of the spotted foals. He seemed to think they were the same species.

Alison was in her forties, and had never married. Cec was in his forties, and was widowed. They talked a long time, and when Cec mentioned there was a play on in town, Alison said casually that she was thinking of going. Cec stared at one of the foals, and finally asked if he could pick her up, and they'd go together. Alison smiled and agreed.

Meantime, Ursula suggested that Bellamy go to the bedroom where it was more private. John gave her a worried look, but did as she said. Ursula made a pretence of taking a few readings with her Nisco and checking pulse.

John was silent, and when she finished, he just sat in one of the chairs and waited, holding onto Wilma, the dog. He couldn't feel it yet, but Ursula knew somehow. It was so frightening, knowing it was going to come, quite unable to prevent it.

Ursula moved about the room, talking as if casually. She went out of the room, checked the RAB, and noted that he was very tense. Six months before, there might have been a warning message to his guards, that he might be about to try something, or maybe fight. Now, Ursula just perched on the edge of his chair and stroked his forehead. John started trembling, and probably because he was so tense already, this time he jerked straight into a fit. He was in bed by the time he part revived, and the pain was on him. They tried hard to avoid fits, and Ursula guessed that this one happened because she'd inadvertently warned him. It might have been more convenient to have him already in the bedroom, but Ursula decided that the next time, she would just stay away until called.

Again, it was short, and he was well. But this time, when he started to tell himself that it would probably never happen again, he sighed, and admitted that it probably would. It was just a price he had to pay, and he went to Alison, and asked how many names did she have now waiting for him.

Alison gave him the figure, and added, "That little Italian girl, she keeps writing, but now she just tells you all about her life and her schoolwork, and the boy in the next wheelchair who thinks she's cute."

John laughed. "Can you keep those letters aside. I'd like to hear and answer properly."

Alison nodded. John rarely answered his mail personally, as there was too much, and most of it didn't interest him. In the past, there had always been thank you letters, for instance. There were none these days, though a few that criticised him for not doing his duty by Wizardkind. She hadn't shown him those. Just 'courteous acknowledgment,' as Pat said.

Saturday, John was over at Lockwood's place, inspecting another two foals, progeny of God Wot? Oliver was with him. He was a responsible boy, and even Oliver knew what to do if he went down - nothing at all while he was in pain unless in a dangerous position, contact home, and Ursula would come and collect him.

Lockwood asked him about it, casually. "I hear you were ill again."

John shrugged, "Happens now and then. Doesn't seem much I can do about it." He pointed at one of the skewbald foals. "I suggest you make sure and keep that one. I reckon it could be a champion."

The other foal was very dark, with a slash of white on its rump. Lockwood said, "That one's markings... A lot of the Line of Sheba horses have that mark. Very characteristic."

John said vaguely, "Oh, yes," and asked about the new hunter he'd bought the previous week.

***chapter end***


	30. Chapter 30

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belongs to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/__Chapter 9: _

It was all arranged. One of the aurors would apparate with Bellamy as a passenger, and he'd go to the Ministry, this time just to watch as Lucasta Stonehouse did her work. John was nervous. He was comfortable at home, but now he'd be among people he should know, a place he should know, and he'd be a stranger. They might not understand, and maybe he'd be rude to a good friend, as he'd been rude to Bryce. They said he could take Trey, and he was told he used to do that before, a dog called Xander.

Dieter appeared in the apparation zone at the specified time, with a very large, shiny black man smiling all over his face.

"Kupec Thomas," Dieter said, and Kupec took a step toward him, lifted him and hugged him very tightly, before wringing his hand.

"You're back," he said. "You're back."

John felt a bit dazed, and said, rather uncertainly, that he guessed so. Kupec wasn't reticent, and John quickly learned that his father had also been one of his bodyguards, whom John had liked enough that he'd named a dog after him, Xander, after Alexander, his father. And that his wife and two sons were as black as himself, which he'd like because he said he always liked big, black men.

John suddenly remembered Timothy, laughed and agreed that he did, indeed, like big, black men.

Dieter smiled in some relief. He hadn't been sure that Kupec's exuberant greeting would be well received.

Dieter gave John some guidelines about being a passenger while apparating. He had to keep his mind right off directions, or apparations, or destinations. Dieter was a bit nervous about it, as Bellamy's raw power was such that, even not knowing what he was doing, a stray thought could mess up Kupec. But Kupec's father had died trying to look after Bellamy, and Dieter had given Kupec the privilege of looking after him now. Dieter himself picked up Trey, mentioning to John that having more than one passenger was just too dangerous, even if one was a dog.

Pat raised a hand in farewell, and the three men, with John's dog, vanished. "I feel like I've just sent a child off to school for the first time," she said to Katrina, currently on duty at the apparation zone.

Katrina said, "He'll find his feet, don't worry about Bellamy."

"If he has an attack, they're just going to wait until the pain stops, and then bring him home. And Kupec and Dieter will be with him. It'll be all right. There's no need to worry."

Katrina squeezed her arm. "Of course it'll be all right."

"Clare says he's just a scarred old alley cat, and always comes back."

"That's about right, too."

Dieter had come to the theory that reserved welcomes left Bellamy unsure, even nervous, and when they appeared in the apparation zone, it was to a roar of welcome. John was surrounded, hugged and jostled, as friends tried to shake his hand, to pat his back, to express their pleasure at having him back. John was a bit bewildered at first, but the feeling all around him was sincere, and after the first few minutes, he relaxed and started trying to remember names. They couldn't all get to him, and even the dog at his heels was made much of, like a consolation prize.

It was Lucasta Stonehouse whom he'd come to watch. The patients were nearly all from various countries in Europe, plus a few Japanese, and one Australian. Dieter explained that there were always visitors to London looking for a cure, but that one or other of the sisters travelled as well, spending up to a week in a country at a time, Europe, America, South America, though not Asia, Africa or the Arabic countries as their wizards and witches were not as law abiding as in other places. "Just do what they want, mostly, and no-one tries to stop them!"

John was introduced to Lucasta, as well as her sister Juana, there only for the purpose of meeting the great wizard, whether or not he was still great. No-one was quite sure any more, except Dieter. Dieter was confident that Bellamy would come back better than ever. Lucasta and Juana were slight young women, with raven black hair. Lucasta had almost black eyes, although Juana's were bright green, as Bellamy's had been when he was a child, before they'd darkened.

John was shown to the Observation Room. Dieter said, "I'll stay here with you and explain a few things, and as Kupec is your personal bodyguard, he will stay, too, but we haven't allowed any more observers today, except Cynthia, McMillan's personal assistant." John politely shook the hand of Cynthia Agnew.

He hadn't seen it, but now Dieter pointed out the large room, adjacent and a bit below them. They had an excellent view. Dieter explained the procedure, always a mediwizard, as Lucasta, like Bellamy himself, was not a qualified healer. Always an auror, as bodyguard and observer, and he pointed out Jilla, the Coordinator, as she showed in the first patient. "Bryce always likes to take notes," Dieter continued to explain. "A copy of the list, as well. He has a desk, although there's normally only a chair or two for anyone else in the room."

John was acutely uncomfortable, especially when Dieter, beside him, explained that the wall was almost opaque from the other side. He was silent for a while, as Lucasta waved her wand and did the first several patients. Quite abruptly, he announced that if he were to start doing the job again, he would refuse to be watched from a bloody _Observation _Room.

Cynthia's shrewd eyes were upon him. McMillan had shown her quite a lot of film of John, some when he was being observed in an Observation Room. There was one segment when he looked very thin and ill, and yet had furiously attacked the whole see-through wall with a weapon she didn't recognise, before turning to destroying his room. Very calmly, as Dieter still looked blank, she said that in that case, he'd best join Lucasta in the workroom, and Dieter would make the transparent wall opaque.

John gave a sigh of relief, even as he reddened with embarrassment.

Cynthia slipped out, saying, "I'll just make the arrangements."

John looked shame-faced at Dieter. "Sorry."

Dieter had recovered himself, and now said calmly, "It's understandable. I should have thought."

There was a pause in proceedings. A second desk was brought in, and more chairs. Big Kupec stood stolidly behind John as he sat, and Dieter sat next to him. Lucasta was a touch nervous. It had been easier when Bellamy had been a little removed. But now he half grinned at her, still shame-faced, and said that he could see better from here. Dieter waved his wand at the see-through wall. It became black, and Cynthia, watching, shrugged, and went back to her office. Lucasta smiled at the old man who looked hardly older than herself, and said that she never liked being watched from that room, either.

Jilla poked her head in, "Ready?" Lucasta nodded, and when the man with donkey ears was brought in, he looked awed at the great wizard who sat next to the healer. He looked just like his pictures. John nodded uncomfortably.

"Your book said that spells can be felt," said Lucasta. "And if you can feel the spell, you can usually undo it." John nodded again. He remembered that bit, and now he looked back at the patient, quite clear in his sight, and tilted his head a touch to the side, feeling. Lucasta waved her wand, said the words of an incantation, and the donkey ears became normal human ears. John felt the change, and as Lucasta proceeded, he was sure that he could do the job. It seemed easy.

Morning tea, and John, perfectly happily, helped himself to some of the food provided, much more elaborate than normal. Cynthia wandered over, as if casually. "Do a few after this?" she asked.

John was casual. "Sure. I reckon I can do it."

It was Bellamy who worked from morning tea until lunchtime, as Lucasta watched. She'd already been assured that she would be paid as usual, whether or not the actual job was done by Bellamy.

Lunch was an elaborate formal affair, scheduled to last two hours. Blake McMillan, Minister for Magic, was showing off their great wizard to several foreign dignitaries. Dieter suddenly realised what effort he must be putting into remembering names. It was easy to forget that they were all total strangers, when he seemed never to forget a name, even when it had only been a brief handshake. There were speeches, and Dieter laughed to himself as he noticed Bellamy become more and more restless.

Lucasta was back, working, before John was freed. He sighed with relief, and said to Dieter, "If they're going to do that to me too often, I'll hide myself at home, and never emerge again!"

Kupec said, "You used to boycott that sort of function."

John asked, "Did I get away with it?"

Kupec nodded, his eyes agleam with humour.

John grinned. "Good, I'll boycott them again."

"Any purpose in rejoining Lucasta?"

John shook his head, and wondered whether Dieter would take him to the famous wizarding area of London, Diagon Alley, if he asked. But he'd been using magic regularly, and must be due to be sick again. He quailed at the thought of being seen by so many people when in pain. It was not as if he could pretend it was nothing. This time, he decided to be cowardly, and Dieter only showed him over the Ministry building, Trey faithfully at his heels, enabling him to avoid walking into walls.

The message came back. There were three whom Lucasta had not been able to cure. Would Bellamy like to have a go? This was why he was here, and he only turned back towards the workroom, wearing an impassive face that concealed his worry.

One of the Japanese, led in for the second time. John felt the spell and waved his wand, without result. He stared into the air, and then paced a few times. Where was it? That extra power that he'd once had. He stopped again in front of the patient. Hiroshi was silent. The Khatabi witch had cursed the great wizard with the Cha Keeyo Curse. It was impossible that Bellamy could walk, talk and think. How much more impossible was it that he could raise a degree of magic that no-one else could?

It took a while, as Bellamy stared into the air, not even looking at the patient, and forgetting to raise his wand. Finally, a gentle tingle was felt in the air, and Bellamy, with sudden confidence, directed it, and Hiroshi bowed, dignified, and thanked him. The other two were cured with no more than a wave of Bellamy's wand.

They wanted to make much of him, but John firmly said that he was in a hurry and needed to go straight home. He took no notice of those who hurried after him, just strode to the apparation zone, forgot that he'd never learned to take a passenger, picked up Trey, and vanished. Dieter glanced at Kupec. "We follow."

John was greeted with exuberance by Forster, who again forgot his training and jumped all over him. John was looking pale.

"We'll just walk with you to the house," said Kupec, in his deep and calming voice. He didn't know why Bellamy wasn't looking happier after his achievement, but could see his worry, even fear. Dieter thought he knew, and he, too, walked fast beside Bellamy. The apparation zone was a fair way from the house, for security, and they were just walking past an untidy pile of rocks when John stopped and looked around in desperation. He'd used more magic than ever before. How bad would it be this time?

Dieter put a hand around his arm. "Steady," he said, meaninglessly, and steered him away from the rocks that might hurt him. He hadn't seen it, but Bryce had described it, and he felt the jolt that shook John, as it struck.

The pain was no worse or different from usual, but it went on and on. After three hours, as night approached, Ursula and Pat consulted. He couldn't be left any longer outside. It was Kupec who gently lifted him, damp with the sweat of pain, and put him on the stretcher.

"Walk beside him," Ursula said to Kupec. "He might start to fit and I don't want him falling."

John didn't fit, and once inside, Ursula led them to the large downstairs bedroom. Kupec again lifted John, and he was put to bed. Ursula lowered the light, said that he needed silence, and herself retreated to a chair in the corner of the room.

He would not be left alone when he was like this, and either Pat, Gabrielle or Ursula would always be in the room with him. He was better with women, less disturbed when they spoke. There even seemed to be less fitting.

Pat rejoined Kupec and Dieter, and asked, "Did he use the strong magic?"

Dieter shook his head. "He just raised the intensity a little when there was one Lucasta couldn't do."

Pat sighed, "I didn't try to stop him, and he had a very good idea that this would happen."

It was dawn before the distress eased and John's body relaxed, eyes closed. Concerned, Gabrielle called Ursula. He was so quiet, and she wasn't sure if he still breathed. But Ursula reassured her. He was alive, though in a bad way. There was nothing to be done, just wait. She told Pat, who'd gone to bed, but unable to sleep.

"At least the pain's stopped," Pat said. "As for the other, he told me that if he dies, then he dies. We wait."

Near midnight of the day after, John opened his eyes and looked around. It had been the worst ever, but he'd used magic, and had asked for it. Carefully, slowly, he sat up. His head throbbed, but it was just a bad headache, nothing like the head pain that caused him such agony.

Wilma bumped him on the leg, and the contact with the rough fur was a comfort. He could feel Gabrielle, sitting in the corner, but she hadn't moved, and he suddenly knew she was asleep. A good time to sneak off for a shower. But he was unsteady, and he put out his left hand and conjured a cane. He was so accustomed to his erratic eyesight that it was a while before he realised that it had worsened. He could scarcely distinguish now between light and dark. Next time, one of the dogs could wait with him in the bathroom, instead of outside.

When Gabrielle stirred guiltily and looked for the patient, he was leaning back in his chair, now changed into sleeping shorts and a dressing gown. He had his eyes closed. Forster, in the entry hall where he slept, started barking furiously. Both Trey and Wilma, at John's feet, leapt to attention, but it was nothing, only the silly dog dreaming. It had woken John, though, and when Gabrielle smiled at him in relief, he smiled back, and asked if there was any chance of something to eat.

There were no further attacks of pain, although the headache took days to ease, and John spent a lot of time sitting in a darkened room, as the light outside hurt his eyes. All the same, when he finally seemed better, and Pat asked if he was going to persevere, he answered that each time he went down to the pain, it was doing something. Something was changing. Maybe it was the way to get better. Pat answered tartly that maybe it was the way to kill himself. John admitted to himself that his worsened eyesight didn't seem to be a good omen, and couldn't explain even to himself why he should be filled with optimism.

"I'll try three, for a start," he told Dieter. "The ones the Stonehouses can't do, and only arrange one session a week."

Dieter looked at him doubtfully. "It's causing the pain, isn't it?"

John grinned at him, carefree. "I'm going to get better. Not the amnesia, maybe, but one day I'll be able to cure all those Italians cursed by Riza Khatabi. And if there's a price to pay, then I'll just have to pay it."

But Dieter had seen it now, had seen the fear when he'd known it was about to strike, and seen him as he jerked around in that first agony. He knew how long it had lasted, too.

Healer Bryce McKenzie paid an unexpected visit the following day. "Out riding," he was told, "He might be a while." So Bryce talked a while with Pat instead.

Pat was resigned. "He needs to do it. He knows he'll pay the price, but he says that if he dies, he dies."

"Do you think he'll let me examine him?"

Pat shrugged. "Goodness knows. I think his eyesight might be worse, but he hasn't said a word to me about it."

"You'd never have known he couldn't see well when he was at the Ministry."

"He had Trey, and I suppose there were people around all the time, too. And when he's outside, he says that even the trees and the grass help him to see. He climbs trees sometimes, and says it helps him think. They're friendly, he says."

Four horses cantered into the drive way at that moment, and turned into the perimeter track. They spaced themselves out then, with a large brown horse being given quite a lead, a chestnut gelding a lesser lead, and then Sirius and God Wot?. Bryce and Pat turned to watch, as did Archie and Ursula, also out enjoying the beginning of summer. The young ones were always racing, now it looked like Victor had been persuaded to race, too. Their audience didn't see or hear the signal, but the horses all started galloping at the same time, Tattler holding his lead for quite a while, closely followed by the chestnut, but by the time they neared the finish, it was between Sirius and God Wot? as it usually was.

John saw Bryce with Pat, asked Edward and Margaret not to go without him, and came to greet his visitor.

He consented to submit to a brief examination, but had a flaming row afterward when Bryce said that he was not allowing him to continue with the spell-breaking. In the end, John said coldly that he had many names of potential patients himself and didn't need Ministry approval. It just would have been better to start with easier ones, rather than going straight to the ones cursed by the Khatabi witch. Then he turned to Pat, calmly apologised for raising his voice in front of her, and said that he was going over to Norm's place to see some foals and would probably lunch there. Pat smiled at her headstrong husband, thanked him for letting her know where he'd be, and, perfectly calmly, kissed him good-bye.

Brcye watched after him, still steaming. "He's the most stubborn bloody man I've ever known!"

Pat smiled. "Don't I remember something about him nearly starving himself to death rather than taking drugged food?"

"Stupid man!"

"If he'd allowed them to drug him as they chose, he would never have come back."

Bryce muttered again about a stupid man, and then said that he'd have to talk to Cynthia.

Margaret and John had ridden their horses hard, so chose a new pair for riding over to 'Norm's place.' They only walked for a while this time, just the three, as Victor had declined the visit. Edward looked at the two horses he hadn't seen before. Margaret was on a flashy piebald, Bellamy on a bay. Margaret said, "I told him they were Line of Sheba, but that we liked to keep it very quiet." And then, with complete casualness, "I haven't told Edward I'm a witch yet, but I asked Alison how she'd told Cec, and she said that she just happened to make the bed with a wave of a wand, while he was still in the room."

Poor Edward swallowed. He'd been asking her for weeks to marry him, in spite of his mother's opposition. He wasn't so sure now. John, with a sidelong glance at Edward, asked, "How did Cec take it?"

"They're getting married in two weeks, and then they're having a month long honeymoon, so I'll be doing a lot of the correspondence for a while. But Alison said that if I dare touch any of the money side of things, she'll hex me so bad even the great wizard himself won't be able to cure me."

Edward was riding along, looking straight ahead. Margaret continued. "Apparently, Cec said that all the locals have known for generations that we're a bit strange here, but friendly enough when spoken to, and apparently harmless."

John grinned. "As long as they don't spread it around too much."

Edward choked, "I won't tell anyone." Now he knew, it was obvious, he thought. More than once, he'd seen visitors emerge from behind a vine covered screen, with no sign of a vehicle. But Margaret had always simply distracted him with something else, and maybe he hadn't chosen to think too much about the odd phenomenon.

He began to relax a little as they rode. They may be different, but they were obviously not supernatural. He glanced at Bellamy. He was wearing a checked shirt, the usual faded jeans, and, for a change, his horse was correctly saddled. He'd been ill again, he knew, though it had not been as severe as on other occasions.

Curiously, John asked, "Why didn't Alison want you looking after the money?"

Margaret grinned. "I made a small mistake a few years ago. But it wasn't all that much really, and Des assured me it couldn't lose."

Edward would have loved to ask how much, but John only laughed.

"The children will all be home in July," Margaret said, and for the first time, spoke directly to Edward. "They go to a special school for the children of Wizardkind, where they learn to control their magic, and learn a bit of self-control, too, hopefully."

"What about Oliver? Doesn't he go to day school?"

"Sometimes, a child is born to Wizardkind, but misses out on the magic. Oliver is like that. Sometimes a child is born to Medjkind, your kind that is, and does have magic, which is always a considerable surprise to the parents."

"I can imagine!" said poor Edward.

As soon as they arrived, Edward took his horse off to the stables, and Margaret said only that she'd best stay with the boss. As Edward knew, they always made sure that someone was with him whenever he went out. Margaret gave not the slightest sign of missing Edward, even when he failed to appear for lunch.

Trey had been left behind after the long ride in the morning, and John's poor eyesight became a lot more obvious, especially at lunch, when no-one obligingly looked at his meal for him. He did the best he could, and only hoped that no-one would notice. Lockwood, his wife, Pamela, Margaret, even the one who served them, noticed his hesitancy, and all tactfully turned their eyes away.

Two days later, a courteous letter arrived from the Ministry asking if Bellamy would be willing to do three patients Monday morning. It seemed he'd won the argument.

"Tell them OK," he said casually to Alison, who nodded, and said, "There's the usual pile of invitations, but I think the first social engagement you go to should be my wedding to Cec, especially as you were instrumental in us meeting.

John grinned, "Making a fool of myself is good for something, then."

"Margaret told me it was the same thing when she was trying to get Edward to notice her."

"He hasn't been around since she told him."

"Margaret's not acting as if she cares. She says she's just trying to decide between Broderick Finch-Fletchley, Angus Riley, or maybe even young Marcus Pickering."

"I've seen the look of adoration on the face of Marcus," said John. "I think he'd be knocked over with joy."

The ewes and lambs were driven off by their medj owner and his trio of sheepdogs. It was a job a lot more tricky than usual, as Forster raced through the middle of the mob, scattering them three times running. John wasn't much help. He only watched from the side, laughing, and when Bob berated him, spread his hands and said that he was nearly blind and couldn't possibly be expected to do anything to help.

Peter was grinning, too. It was rather good to see the boss laughing like that, but he put the lead in the hand of the boss, and told him to hold on this time. John held on.

No-one could quite understand the good humour of the boss. He obviously knew that he could collapse at any moment, and made no problem about having to wait until someone could ride with him, and kept right out of the swimming pool and the spa. And yet he laughed and smiled and seemed full of optimism.

Maybe it was justified. The following Monday, he picked up Trey, and, accompanied by Kupec, apparated to the Ministry and cured three patients, needing the increased intensity of magic once, then apparated home, this time not feeling any need to hurry. When Edward cantered his horse through the gateway, he was walking through the sheep paddock with Peter and Archie, all of them evenly spaced, all of them with wands out, causing the ground to turn itself over and bury the sheep dung. The three workers didn't try to conceal the magic. It was Margaret's decree that if Edward put in an appearance, they were to act as if he was as much wizard as anyone else. In a few weeks, when the grass was well grown, helped along a touch with magic, the paddock would have the practice showjumping course moved here, and the sheep would be allocated a different paddock. It was the usual alternation - better for the land that way. Edward strolled over to the paddock and watched closely. No wonder the work seemed to get done quickly and easily.

Margaret peeped out of the house, and made sure she wasn't seen as she went to the apparation zone. Then she apparated to the Pickerings, gave Marcus his orders, returned, and then casually strolled toward the horse paddock, with Marcus at her side, both of them wearing capes, Marcus with his long hair loose. Margaret was very pleased that a chill breeze gave them an excuse for the wizard capes. Her own mane of red hair was loose, and her deep green cape pleased her. If Edward had come to renege on his proposal, he'd know what he was missing. She still didn't know whether she'd accept it, when he was only Medj, after all. On the other hand, she'd never felt such a warm tenderness for any of her other boyfriends.

But Edward turned to look, and his heart was in his eyes. She was a witch. He adored her. If only she'd consent, she'd one day be a duchess. But Margaret casually introduced him to the young wizard by her side, and said they were off to a party this evening, but were apparating, so unfortunately he couldn't come. Edward took his disappointment bravely, and asked if she'd be riding in the morning. Margaret turned and looked at the boss, and said indifferently that someone had to be with him, so very likely it would be her.

The following morning, John looked on with amusement. It seemed that Margaret was in a contrary mood, and nothing that Edward suggested they do together seemed to appeal. He started to be very sorry for Edward. In the end, Edward dropped back and walked his horse beside John. Forster, behind them, ranged wide. It was the first time that John had let him come, thinking that he'd finally persuaded the idiot dog to take a bit more notice of him. Edward started asking about wizardry.

John answered, but Margaret, listening hard while pretending to be admiring the scenery, realised that there were still a lot of things that the boss was unsure of. He'd never admitted to Edward or his father that his memory only went back a few months more than two years, and he was having difficulties. Margaret took over, and John gave a sigh of relief. He'd hoped that Margaret would let him off the hook, and maybe now the pair would kiss and make up, not that it had been a quarrel, precisely.

The next Monday was as quick and easy as the first, one of the three patients cured with a wave of the wand, two with a slightly increased intensity of magic. John's good cheer lasted, and Pat was relieved that he remained well.

Alison's wedding was at the local village church. Margaret had helped her select her dress, which was flattering and not unconventional, and both the bride and groom looked very pleased with themselves. On Alison's request, John had presented them with a dozen stud sheep chosen by Cec, for a wedding present, though he and Pat thought that quite insufficient, and there was another generous gift as well, a bit more convenient to put on the table for display.

Alison had no family but those whom she worked with, but she'd lived in the same small house for many years, and was friendly with many of the locals. Most of the other residents of the Bellamy home were seldom seen, and were inspected with a lot of interest. John wore a formal medj suit, and looked totally unfamiliar to himself and everyone else. For nearly all the locals, it was the first sight of him for many, many years. One old man looked at him, shook his head, and decided he must be mistaken. And when he mentioned the likeness to his wife, his wife only said that Celia down the road knew the family well, and the young Mr. Bellamy was the image of his grandfather.

Another two Mondays' work went by without problems. John was feeling more at home at the Ministry, knowing his way around, and remembering names of those he met. Lucasta and Juana were both making a good living, as such skills didn't come cheap. The British Ministry still preened itself on having exclusive rights to unequalled spell-breakers. No other country could rival them, and hadn't been able to since Bellamy had first come on the scene.

John now apparated himself, holding Trey, without any need for escort. He thought it was going well, suggested to Jilla that she could book up to six in for him, if there was sufficient demand, and that, if she liked, he could do the job in the afternoon, instead of the morning, so he could pick up any of the earlier patients that had been unable to be cured. But after consultation with Bryce, Jilla only switched him to late morning, instead of first thing. If he became ill, there should preferably be enough time to get him home as soon as he fainted after the pain stopped.

The children arrived home for the summer holidays, Luke Bourne, and the three daughters of Bellamy and Pat. Ross and Ryan talked endlessly about Hogwarts, badgered their mother to start buying what they'd need, even before their lists arrived, and ignored Oliver.

Paul sent two more riding horses over, a mare who had twice had trouble foaling, and had been sacked as a brood mare, and a gelding that had been returned after his new owner found him too much trouble. It happened occasionally. Horses with brains could be troublesome, and the Line of Sheba horses had a tendency to stray whenever they felt the inclination. There were some more retired brood mares brought over, too, one of them the dam of Naji.

The Andalusian mares with the spotted foals were mated to one of the Andalusian stud stallions next door this time, to Lockwood's relief when he heard. He turned his pained eyes away whenever he saw those spotted foals next to their high class mothers. John just laughed at him, and said that the spotted fillies would win show classes when they were older. It just needed a pair of children of the right age.

Lockwood glanced at Edward and Margaret, sitting very close, and whispering to each other. John's laughing eyes were on him, "Maybe," he said. But no announcement was made.

***chapter end***


	31. Chapter 31

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belongs to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/__Chapter 10: _

John's daughters were with him whenever they could be. He was their lost father who had come home. Lesley and Mary spent hours reading to him, general books now, as he said he was tired of hearing about himself.

Oliver and the other boys all liked to join him whenever he was outside, though everyone knew of the ill feeling, and no-one was surprised that it was always two or three of the Bournes, or Oliver, seldom all of them together.

One day, at breakfast, Kitty and Sidney came in together with a parcel. "Still a while till your birthday," they said, "But Alison says you need one of these." Pat was watching, in on the secret.

Smiling, happy, John was unwrapping the gift by feel. They were all looking at his face, and no-one obligingly looked at the shoebox sized device. "Just what I wanted, of course, and I'm very grateful, but... What exactly is it?"

Kitty demonstrated the book reader, and now that she was looking at it, too, he could see it better. "Books go in here, and it reads them for you, but if you have just a piece of paper, such as a letter, you put them here."

John was smiling all over his face. It really was just what he needed. "I made it so that it would read in Pat's voice," said Sidney. "I thought you'd like that."

John glanced at his wife. "I like that." But then he rose from the table, and hugged Kitty, although not quite sure whether it was polite to hug Sidney.

Sidney solved the problem for him, pulling him to him, very briefly, and patting his back. "Happy reading, Boss."

Susan joined him every morning when he rode, but let Margaret continue to borrow Sirius, as Margaret said that it was essential that she have a horse faster and better looking than Edward's chestnut. Oliver nearly always came, riding his piebald pony, called Badger, and sometimes the other boys, as well, Luke on a horse too big for him, Ryan and Ross on ponies.

Lord Lockwood joined him one day, as well, and looked closely at the horses ridden by Susan and by Luke. "Line of Sheba?" he asked Bellamy.

Bellamy nodded. "Paul Pickering looks after the stud, and makes sure we have whatever riding horses we need. Sherise is still far too big for Luke, but they're beginning to turn up their noses at the ponies."

Lockwood shook his head. Susan might have been the daughter of the boss, and Margaret a relative, but Luke was just a son of an employee, and he rode a horse worth a small fortune. Lockwood knew very well how expensive a Line of Sheba horse was. He felt a considerable complacency when he thought that he now had four colts and fillies sired by one of the stud's stallions. Instead of complaining about careless neighbours, now he loudly regretted that the great horse had been gelded. At the same time, he turned pained eyes away from that clownish head.

Monday, John attended the Ministry, greeted Juana, waited as she finished her morning's scheduled patients, and raised a higher intensity of magic than usual four times running. He wasn't worried. He was using magic now casually and routinely, and it would probably never happen again. He hadn't been severely ill since April, just that one attack at the beginning of June that had left him with a headache for a few days, and poorer eyesight. He was optimistic.

Tuesday, his horse stopped within a few strides, and John fell from his back. They'd been galloping, and the others didn't see his first agony. It was a while before he was even missed, the boys enthralled with their speed, and Edward and Margaret enthralled with each other. It was young Ryan, trailing the others on his middle-aged pony, who first missed him, and turned to see God Wot? standing stock still in the distance, with a figure very still at his feet. Susan was distressed, and it was Margaret who pulled her away from the boss, and said that they'd go for help. "I'll stay," said Edward. He'd seen it before, and knew there was nothing to do but wait.

Margaret pulled a wand from her light jacket, waved it, chanted an incantation, and a blanket appeared. Susan picked it up, and very gently spread it over her father. It may have been mid summer, but it was not a hot day. "Handy skill," Edward spoke quietly, with acceptance.

After consultation, Susan galloped off for help, and Margaret told the boys they would all be going home with her, that there was no point in hanging around. The Bourne trio nodded and remounted, but Oliver hesitated, and finally asked if he could stay. Margaret nodded. The boss should have a Barnes to stay and help look after him. It was the Barnes family tradition.

In March, he'd been ill three weeks, better for only around ten days, and then sick again for nearly another two weeks. This time, again, the illness dragged on and on. There was a lot of fitting, and Pat was in despair. There was one morning, when he woke and found an Intravenous Drip in his arm. He made an exclamation and yanked it out, though Ursula scolded and said it had kept him alive when he might have died by now.

He turned dazed eyes to her, and wondered that he could see her quite clearly. But then the pain hit again and he jerked in the bed and whimpered in his despair.

"Don't worry, Boss," said Ursula, in a gentle voice. "You'll be better soon." She was getting very tired, and Lesley and Susan, even young Mary now shared the duty as well, though not when he was in pain, as it was too hard for them, especially Susan. Isaac was still with Bryce, and both of them came every day, Isaac quite often staying overnight.

Bellamy's birthday came and went, 31st July. "He's a hundred and sixty-eight," Bryce said proudly to Isaac, as if it was his own achievement.

John didn't even wake that day, and Pat thought of the two mares brought back from America for him. They'd found Naji in the ownership of a young man who did a lot of showjumping. It had not been a success, because she liked too much to buck, and her new owner, disgusted, had sent her to a nearby stallion, instead. Maybe her foals might have better manners. She'd still been expensive. Bess was the same as ever, a kind and gentle mare. Maybe Henry could ride Bess when he needed something small and quiet as he convalesced.

John was never sensible enough to leave the drip in his arm when he woke, and once weakly threatened to turn Isaac into a frog if he put it back in. Isaac waited until he was unconscious again and put the drip back in. Quietly, afterwards, he said, "He won't _really_ turn me into a frog will he?"

Bryce said casually, "Probably not."

Isaac started using the consciousness monitor more often after that, and tried to ensure that there was no evidence of any intravenous drip whenever it looked like his patient might wake.

There was less than a fortnight left of the school holidays when John woke and looked around, feeling very weak, but more at ease. Lesley was in the corner, deep involved in a book. "Lesley?" he said.

Lesley went to him. "Feeling better?"

He smiled, "Hungry."

It wasn't long, but when John lay down and closed his eyes, it was only because he was so incredibly tired, not because he was unconscious or in pain. He hadn't noticed that his meal had been quite easy to see.

It was a few days before he was able to sit outside, and again he was pitifully thin. His sight was the same again as it had been before the latest episode of illness. He was able to distinguish between light and dark by himself, but little else. But Trey was always at his heels, Wilma whenever he was still, and even Forster galloped past now and then. He was accustomed to his erratic eyesight, and took it for granted, not remembering that there might have been a brief interval when he could suddenly see better. His mind seemed to sort everything out for him, even when he used images from more than one source. It was not confusing to John, just what he was used to.

"I'll start again as soon as I'm well enough," he told Dieter and Bryce, who visited together one day. Bryce lost his temper, yelling, and then stalked off with the intention of persuading Pat to forbid him.

Dieter said, "You're a brave man!"

John knitted his brows, slightly, and then shook his head. "I'm not brave. Aurors are brave. But I'm not. I'm always terrified when I know it's coming. But it's the way to become a whole man again. And I don't want to be a shell forever."

Dieter said, "Of course you're a whole man. You may not remember things, but that doesn't make you a shell."

John felt like a shell, but only offered Dieter more coffee. There was a tray of food on the table. Louise and Kitty thought he was far too thin, and made sure he was offered as much as he could eat. He was always hungry, and even young Louise would smile maternally when she saw him enjoying the food.

Margaret brought him some of his birthday cake on a tray. And suddenly, John experienced his first true memory from the time before. Margaret had been just a little girl, and brought him a wonky birthday cake she'd made herself. It was not at all nice, but he had to eat it because she was watching to make sure she did. He smiled triumphantly, but when Dieter asked what he was suddenly smiling about, he only offered him more cake. One memory from so many years wasn't really something to boast about, he supposed.

Dieter got up to leave, and said, "Give us a call when you're ready to start again, and Jilla will arrange it."

Bellamy looked up. "I'll try one of the Khatabi ones when I come back."

Dieter answered the great wizard. "If that's your decision. You're the only one to decide."

John was pleased to be better, even if he was so weak still. It wouldn't take long, and maybe it really was because something within him was fixing itself.

The following day, he was outside in the garden, surrounded by shrubs and summer flowers. He was in one of his own conjured chairs, the same as that chair he'd sat in on Christmas Eve when he'd just returned and thought that if might have been made just for him. It _had _been made just for him, by himself.

Alison sat next to him, still looking radiant after her honeymoon. "I _love_ being married," she said ecstatically. "I don't know why I didn't do it years ago!"

John agreed. "Nothing like having someone to sleep with," and then blushed. "I don't mean sex, just someone in the same bed, all night."

Alison was laughing at him. She wasn't at all sure that he hadn't meant sex, what with the stories of his fondness for women.

John turned the subject. "You're not taking his surname?"

Alison shook her head. "My name is Kristos. I've always been Kristos, and besides, it's a much more dignified name than Arbuckle!"

John nodded. Pat was still Pat Howard, and he knew that his second wife had kept her own surname as well, though his third hadn't. It was a matter of choice. Children nearly always took their father's names, or occasionally hyphenated the two names.

A procession arrived, John's three daughters, Lesley in front, Susan leading Naji, and Mary leading Bess. "A little delayed," said Pat, "But Happy Birthday."

John looked. "Naji? Bess?" And he left his chair, and fussed over the two, who were overjoyed to find him again, suddenly, miraculously. "You brought them back for me." He was nearly crying. He was still very weakened, and was overwhelmed that they'd gone to so much trouble for him.

A couple of days later, Oliver brought his beautifully groomed piebald pony, Badger, to show off to him. "It's the Pony Club Gymkhana today, and it's held here every year in August. They like the indoor arena, and they use one of the paddocks as well." They still explained things.

John was surprised. "I didn't know you were in the Pony Club!"

"I'm not, but it's open to outsiders as well. There's even some open jumping this afternoon, and grown-ups will be entered for that."

John smiled in pleasure. "I'll go over this afternoon then, and watch." And in the afternoon, Victor brought Bess to him, and he walked her over to the edge of the paddock where some quite high jumps were set up. Victor walked beside him, and he was installed on a garden seat that had been moved to a good position to watch. He watched the jumping, had a word to the organiser who knew who he was, and came to thank him for use of the property, but was not much disturbed otherwise. Victor hovered near, and the solid man with his bushy black beard looked rather formidable, which discouraged the curious.

Oliver visited twice, Badger showing a white rosette on his bridle. "The best rider class, but I was only fourth out of six entries."

"The jumping?"

"The children's jumping is under cover, and soon."

John smiled at him. "Good luck."

He was beginning to tire when Norm Lockwood joined him an hour later. The duke's presence caused a lot of comment, as he never attended local events such as this. But John just greeted his friend and asked if he'd like a hamburger. Lord Lockwood raised his eyebrows in a sudden attack of snobbishness.

John grinned. "You don't have to," but he whistled over Mary, who seemed to be lingering close, just in case she could do something for her father.

"I'm always starving after I've been sick," he said, and he grinned sidelong. "And if you think this is not quite upper class, I'm treating myself to fairy floss afterwards."

Lockwood laughed. Bellamy was something different.

But not long later, he stood up and said that he was going back to the house, as he still wasn't quite well. Lockwood grabbed his arm as he swayed, but Victor had been watching, and led over a dun pony, rather round.

"Not your usual class of horse?" Lockwood commented.

"This is Bess. She's the sweetest, kindest pony there is," and Victor helped him up and walked next to Bess, who was quite accustomed to looking after the boss when he was ill.

Curious looks followed him. It was poor young Mr. Bellamy who owned the property, and was known to be dying. Celia down the road, who knew the family well, said it was leukaemia.

The next day, Ryan and Ross came to him, important looks on their faces, and asked if they could look in the library for text books, as there was no point in buying new ones.

"Sure," said John, and went with them.

They were full of excited expectation, and told him stories they'd heard from those who'd gone before them, interrupting each other. "There are ghosts..."

"And you can't use electricity because even the air is full of magic..."

"And you get Sorted into houses at the Start of Year feast..."

"And for a long time you used to be a Professor there..."

"I did?" said John, in surprise.

Neither Pat nor Kitty could see any point in buying new things when there were secondhand things available, and textbooks, supplies and clothing were handed down. Mary's old textbooks were not shared out, she wanted to keep them 'for reference.' In the end, three more first year books were needed, and Susan needed just a sixth year Arithmancy textbook. The one Arithmancy book in the library was labelled H. Potter, but was outdated.

"Did you do Arithmancy?" she asked her father.

He shrugged, "I guess I must have."

Once the children were gone, John complained that the holidays were far too short, and he never had a chance to know his own daughters. "I know Oliver better."

Pat hugged him, but told him it was essential that people with magic learn to control it properly, otherwise it was too dangerous.

John agreed begrudgingly, "I suppose."

Pat smiled understandingly. "And they love it there. You know how excited Ryan and Ross were!"

"It does sound a lot of fun!"

"Oliver's been so quiet these holidays. He doesn't say he's jealous, only that it'll be nice to have some peace and quiet finally."

Edward and Margaret were still together, though there was another interval when Margaret refused to see Edward when he came. It lasted a week, and no-one knew the reason for the disagreement. And then, quite suddenly, they were seldom seen apart, apparently gloriously happy, and Lockwood rode over to see how Bellamy was, and to deliver invitations to a garden party.

"Lots of guests," he said bluffly, "M'wife says I have to tell you it's a dress-up affair, so no jeans."

"And who..?"

"All the Barnes, and you and Pat." Lockwood stared into the air again, and suddenly said, "They tell me you're a wizard."

John nodded.

Norm grinned. "Funny to think that the next duchess will be a witch."

John asked, surprised, "Is it definite then? I wasn't at all sure that Margaret would have him."

Lockwood was amused. It would never have occurred to any of their other acquaintances that a goodlooking young man, heir to a Dukedom, might be refused. "Well, by the sound of it, it's been a stormy courtship, but they've agreed that the announcement of their engagement will be made at the party."

They were admiring Naji, when Lockwood referred to their differences again. "My grandfather told me once that the people who lived here were different. That there was a rumour there was a witch lived here. I thought it was nonsense."

"Pat is a normal person," said John, "Also Clare, though her husband was a wizard. Medj/wizard pairs can be very happy."

"Their children?"

"Usually have magic too, though not always, so if there's a grandson, there's no need to put his name down for Eton or Cambridge, he probably wouldn't fit in."

"A bit to swallow."

John said musingly, "I heard once, I forget where, that a lot of the old, wealthy medj families such as yours, are descended from wizards, that it's how many of them first gained their power." He grinned at his friend, "So maybe your blood is tainted with wizardry."

"I'm not so sure my blood is pure in any case. It was back over a century, but there was a scandal, that great, great grand-dad may not have been the son of the then duke, who was said to prefer boys."

"Rather makes elaborate family trees a bit pointless, doesn't it, when one indiscretion somewhere along the line makes the whole thing invalid!"

"I haven't told Pamela. I don't think she'd be happy, and she's not from around here, so hasn't heard any rumours - probably."

John nodded. "A lot of trouble is taken to keep Wizardkind out of the notice of Medj."

Lord Lockwood smiled wryly. Medj, eh?

A week later, John and Pat, Peter and Gabrielle, Archie and Ursula were inspected by Margaret to make sure they were dressed suitably. Brother Peter was sent back with a flea in his ear, as he had presented himself in wizard robes. But she gave the nod to the rest of them.

There was intermittent rain, and the hundred or so guests sheltered under marquees for most of the afternoon, but it was a cheerful party. There were occasional attempts to put the nobodies in their place, asserting the importance of the English upper class, but Wizardkind had a sufficient sense of their own power that such attempted put-downs tended to go unnoticed. The announcement was made, wedding in a few months, Boxing Day.

John told Margaret that he'd miss her, and that evening, presented her with a necklace of emeralds as an engagement present, and promised that if she wanted, he'd pay the bill for needed repairs for her new home. Margaret kissed him, and told him that if he hadn't already been married, she'd have been after him, leaving him staring at her blankly. It had never occurred to him to think of her in that way.

_**x**_

He was back working by mid September, still thin, as usual, after the latest illness, but no longer weak. They'd booked in eight patients for him, plus one left over from the morning's session that Juana had failed to cure. But none needed even a slight increase of intensity. Bryce had set the limit, and still said that none of the Khatabi victims were to be booked in. But John didn't know of the ban, and told Jilla that she could start booking them in, only one at a time to begin with. He mentioned it to Pat, and she suggested firmly that he use the telepathic cure rather than the strong magic when it became necessary. John gave a sigh of relief, and agreed. It was the obvious thing to do. He felt a panic when he thought of the punishment he might receive when he tried to use 'the strong magic,' that had been described to him.

He was riding again now, graduating from Bess to Naji around the property, but God Wot? when he wanted to gallop. Naji was in foal, and should not be galloped hard. Oliver was a frequent companion whenever not at school, and he very much enjoyed the boy's chatter. It was a glorious autumn, enough rain to ensure good growth, and plenty of sun to revel in. Pat thought sometimes that her husband was a lot closer to the living things than he'd ever been. He told her that when he climbed trees, he could feel where the branches were, that they were alive, and friendly. He no longer hid it from her that he talked to birds, and even to the snakes that inhabited a pile of rocks.

Pat mentioned, "You told me once that Beth used to talk to snakes there, when she was just a little girl."

John thought, and remembered, but only because he'd been told. Beth was the daughter of Luna, his second wife. He said nothing.

He strolled the grounds one day with Pat, and pointed to the trees as their leaves turned shades of red and gold. "The last two years, I hated that, as it meant I was about to lose the little privacy I had."

"You don't mind any more that we keep an eye on you?"

John smiled, relaxed. "I agree that it's needed, and I can always run away if I really need to."

"You didn't always think it was needed."

John looked at her almost timidly. "I was frightened you wouldn't want me if you knew how sickly I was. That's why I hid on Boxing Day when I knew it was about to strike."

Pat smiled at him fondly. But then, curiously, she asked, "Where were you?"

He pointed. "Behind a garden seat, in there."

Pat turned her steps to the walled garden, and John followed. Inside, he touched a stone tablet. "What's this?"

Pat's heart wrenched. He'd lost so much. But she only said that it was where his second wife was buried.

"Luna," he said.

She nodded. "I want to be buried here too, when the time comes, and so did you, though we might have to fight the Ministry for you. They'll want to give you a Ministerial Merlinus funeral, no doubt." And then she proceeded to tell him what a Ministerial Merlinus funeral was. A very high honour for the most valued members of wizardry.

"With speeches?" John asked.

Pat nodded, her mouth quirking. John said, "You'd best just grab the body and bury me here, then. I don't like speeches." It was odd, sometimes. He'd lost all his memories of his younger life, but he was still exactly the same person, with exactly the same likes and dislikes.

He still tried to know his own self more, looking for chinks of light in what he thought of as a 'black hole' in his head. He refused to refer to what he did as meditation - 'just thinking,' he called it, though he sat still and usually closed his eyes as he concentrated. For all his deep concentration, he could never feel any traces of magic that could be undone, and knew now that if there was any spell still on him, he should feel it. But even the memory modification spells, which could normally be undone, seemed to be totally gone. There was nothing. He was a hollow man. But there must be stirrings. Twice, he'd suddenly said something that appeared to have come from the past, and then he'd remembered young Margaret's wonky birthday cake.

There was a night when he dreamed about Clare. She was holding a baby. He heard her. _I wish you could see him, John - he's beautiful_. And in the morning, instead of a fruitless search for memory, he thought about Clare, and then made the effort until he found an awareness of her. He could go to her, he knew, from just the feel of her. But he had to tell Pat, in case he became ill again.

It was just Pat and himself at breakfast. Pat watched him as he sat endlessly over his coffee, studying the table-cloth, and perfectly obviously wanting to tell her something, and frightened to. She smiled to herself. She knew him so well. But he needed prompting, and finally, she said gently, "What is it, Henry?"

John wouldn't look at her. "I told you about Clare."

Pat nodded. "Her job was to go to bed with you and report on you."

"I knew she reported on me, of course, but they all did. And I became very fond of her."

Pat nodded. Inevitable, of course.

John continued, "I tried to make sure and give her enough that they'd think she was useful, and wouldn't decide to send her off on another job."

Pat raised her eyebrows. "Things you were trying to keep quiet?"

"I wasn't _that_ fond of her."

"So?"

"Anyway, one day they said she'd left, but Mark let it slip later that there'd been a suicide note."

"She committed suicide?"

"She let it be believed that she committed suicide. She thought if they knew she was pregnant, her baby would be watched in the same way I was."

Pat sat watching him, and then sighed. "So there's another illegitimate child."

John wouldn't look at her.

Finally, Pat spoke again, gently. "How much do you know?"

"I dreamed about her, and then, this morning, I searched in my mind."

Pat nodded. No-one else could do this probably, but Bellamy could. He looked up at her, frankly. "I don't think she's got enough money. She adores the baby boy, but she's worried about the future."

Pat spoke calmly. "So what are you going to do?"

"I want to go see her, and organise enough money that she and the baby can be comfortable."

"You don't want to bring her here, then?"

John was startled. "I hadn't thought of that, and it could be dangerous. She's been a medj government agent, after all."

Pat was relieved and said, "Lesley would not have approved."

John laughed. "She certainly would not!" But then he looked timidly at Pat. "I'm sorry."

Pat sighed. "You were away from me for over two years, you didn't remember you had a wife, I can hardly expect you to be celibate."

"I don't think I'm very good at celibacy."

"So where is she?"

"In Australia, I think, but I don't know where. I can apparate to her from the knowing of her."

Pat nodded, taking it for granted. He used to be able to do this, and more and more of his old skills were returning. "What if you get sick over there?"

"I won't stay long, so it probably won't happen, but I'll take contact details, in case."

It was early evening in Australia. The baby was fretful, and Clare was thinking that she adored her little John, but it would be nice if she could afford a babysitter, so that she could have some time off now and then. The knock on the door was a surprise. She was afraid of pursuit, and quite deliberately, had avoided becoming involved in the life of the town. She had no friends. She thought she'd move on again soon, but money was such a problem.

She stared at John. He looked exactly the same, too thin, long black hair tied back in a pony tail, even wearing a red shirt. Silently, she stepped back in a tacit invitation. He said hesitantly, "I dreamed about you. You said that you wished I could see him."

She looked at her baby, but was suddenly afraid, "You're not going to take him away!"

"Of course not! Unless... Did you want me to?"

Clare shook her head. "I don't want you to." It was her John Doe, her assigned job, but more than that. She'd held him in her arms, and comforted him in his distress. She'd known from the start he was something different, already fully briefed on his guessed at telepathic powers, as well as on that inexplicable power caught on camera just once. But he'd laughed and cried and loved. He was human, and very dear to her.

She said, "You escaped then. I thought you would."

John said, "Just before Christmas." His eyes kept straying to the child, and he asked, "Can I pick him up?" He sat in a chair, crooning to his son. The tiny boy was a wizard, like himself. He could tell.

Clare watched him, and finally roused herself, "Coffee?"

John nodded, continuing to talk to the tiny baby, whose dark eyes stared back. Gently, he kissed the baby, and put him back in the cradle, tucking him up. The baby blinked a couple of times and went to sleep.

They talked a long time then, John and Clare. Clare wasn't too proud to accept money when he told her he was home and a very rich man, though he still didn't remember anything of his past. He told her what he was, and also that her son was also a wizard. He could tell. He told her that Facility 19 was closed, and that records had been destroyed. Very unlikely that anyone was looking for her, but that if she was in trouble, she should call him, and he would come.

He finally rose. "My wife will worry if I don't come back." And he gave her contact details, though not that would enable her to find him, and said that he'd arrange his secretary to start a regular payment for as long as she needed. He looked at his son one more time, gently caressed the cheek of the sleeping child, and left.

Clare's money worries were over, but she was very lonely, and cried a little after he left. She was a highly trained agent, taught to regard sentiment as weak. But she was a mother now, and things were different.

John apparated home, arriving in the apparation zone outside, as usual. Pat had forgotten to tell him that there was another, much smaller, apparation zone within his home, and he thought that Dieter was right. He should not remind people that he had unusual abilities, like being able to ignore anti-apparation spells.

He told his wife about the beautiful baby he'd met, that had to be the most beautiful baby in the world, and went to tell Alison to start arranging child support payments. Clare Glover was now called Gay Douglas. The child was John Douglas. He forgot to be embarrassed, and Alison, too, was told about the beautiful baby. Alison shook her head. He wondered if he'd think her baby, too, when it came, was the most beautiful baby in the world. Probably. He invariably did, about any baby, as long as she'd known him.

Pat was in the library when John went back to her. He never had to wonder where she was, he could feel her presence. But he paid insufficient attention and walked into a shelf of books. Pat frowned at him. She rarely embarrassed him by referring to such lapses, but now she asked, "Just how bad is your eyesight, Henry?"

John looked away. "Like always, it comes good for a while, and then it's not so good." But then he gave her a brilliant smile of sudden realisation. "I think it might be getting better. I didn't take Trey, and yet when I was with Clare, I could see quite well."

Pat smiled. "Maybe you're right. The intervals when the pain strikes might be doing something."

John turned away. He knew he'd said that, but the last illness had lasted nearly six weeks, and for a large part of that time, he'd been in agony. He felt a quivering terror when he thought it would happen again, and tried hard not to think about it.

The following day, he knew it was going to happen again. He was with Pat, and he could feel the warning within him. He paced frantically, as if he could run away, and when Pat took his hands in her own, he held them hard enough to hurt, and almost sobbed, "Get Bryce. Tell him he has to put me down." And his voice rose in a cry of despair, "It's too hard, I can't do it any more!"

She tried to comfort him, but he trembled and there was a terror in his eyes. The warning was usually only a few seconds. This time, he had nearly three minutes before he cried out his agony and his legs no longer supported him.

Pat called Bryce, but she didn't say he'd asked to be put down. Instead, the tall, self-controlled woman sobbed in the arms of Bryce, whose own eyes were almost as wet. Bellamy was a stubborn ox, and he'd brought it on himself. If only he'd be content to give up on magic, it would probably never happen again. But it lasted less than an hour, and within three hours, he was up and very much ashamed of showing his fear.

And still, he didn't change his mind, and the following Monday cured several patients without incident, and became involved in a deep discussion with Lucasta about the telepathic cure. Neither Lucasta nor Juana had been able to master it, although they did have some telepathic ability. Bellamy said that it could still develop, and mentioned that it was only after he was married to Luna at the age of fifty that he started to develop his own telepathic talents. And then paused, surprised at himself. He had no memory of Luna, and this was another thing that had come up unexpectedly from the depths of a wiped memory.

***chapter end***


	32. Chapter 32

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belongs to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/__Chapter 11:_

Bryce finally gave the nod, and Jilla booked in one of the Khatabi victims who could still walk and could travel to London.

It was the end of September. Bellamy cured several patients that had defeated the Stonehouses, then faced the last. The raised intensity of magic didn't work, and he paced the floor as the patient watched, worried. John wanted to just make his magic stronger and stronger. He thought he could do that. But the telepathic cure needed a lot less effort, and he knew it was only prudent. "Telepathic cure," he said to Dieter. Bryce and Kupec watched, too, as well as Juana, just back from three weeks working her cures in America.

John had forgotten the careful warnings he always gave before attempting the telepathic cure, so Dieter held up a hand to stop him, and himself warned the Italian. John listened closely to Dieter, and only added that he'd been sick, and that the patient should not hope too much, as he didn't know whether he could still do it. The man's voice was muffled, as his overgrown proboscis tended to get in the way of his mouth. "Please do what you can. You are the great wizard. There is no-one else."

John shivered. He didn't think he liked being the great wizard, and he thought, at that moment, that if he'd not been the only one, he'd have been content to lead the life of a semi-invalid at home.

Two more aurors were brought into the room - young, fast aurors, in case of the sudden berserk anger that the telepathic cure was apt to provoke, and Kupec politely asked the Italian if he would please hand over his wand.

"Ready?" Bellamy asked the wizard, and was quite suddenly confident. He only had to extend his mind, feel the mind of his patient, and give a gentle nudge with a touch of magic, just there. The Italian still waited for him to start, but suddenly, surprised, put a hand to his face, and was crying and exclaiming in his joy. He was so tired of not being able to be seen in public, and of seeing the pained expression on the face of his wife whenever she looked at him. Maybe she would kiss him again, now. It had taken just five minutes.

One of the extra aurors firmly showed out the patient, rather than allowing him to hug John for a third time. Dieter, Bryce and Kupec all wore enormous smiles, but it was Dieter who said, "You've never done it so quickly and easily. I don't think he even felt it!"

Bryce said, "One down, just sixty-four to go."

Bellamy asked, "Was that a Khatabi spell, then?"

"That was Riza Khatabi."

Bellamy smiled all over his face. "Maybe it's time to go to Italy." He turned to his dog, remembered to use his wand as he conjured a collar and lead, and said that he was going for a walk. Dieter looked doubtful. What if he got sick? After all, it was the first time for a very long time that he'd worked that sort of magic.

But John was thrilled with himself, full of confidence, refused to remember that less than two weeks ago he'd wanted Bryce to put him down, and was obviously not about to submit to any restraint now.

Dieter said calmly, "Kupec, you go with him."

Bellamy just nodded. Kupec could show him the way to Diagon Alley. Once he'd been there, he'd be able to apparate there whenever he chose. But Dieter gave additional instructions, two aurors were to follow at a distance, for extra security, and a message was sent to Pat, so that she wouldn't worry when he took longer than usual to come home. It made little difference to Pat. She worried.

Kupec pulled Bellamy to him again, as they left the Ministry, and gave him a hug. "You do realise what an achievement that was."

He grinned. "Of course. I'm absolutely tickled pink with myself."

Bellamy strode confidently through the streets of medj London, Kupec next to him, each of them carrying their capes over their arms, so that they appeared the same as ordinary coats. He could see well, and was enjoying the exercise. Trey trotted beside him. But John shrank from the attention he received when they entered the shabby pub that concealed the entrance to the famous alley. He was stared at, but big Kupec swung his cape back around his shoulders, looked absolutely formidable, and none of the pub's customers approached.

John followed his example, and took notice as Kupec tapped a certain brick with his wand, and an archway appeared.

Bellamy relaxed, and gave a smile of sheer enjoyment as he looked at the life and colour of Diagon Alley. Behind him, two more aurors came closer, and he turned and nodded, smiling to them. He'd felt their presence. He turned back to Kupec. "A present for Pat, Kupec. What do you think? She's had an awful lot to put with this past nine months."

The aurors surrounded him, but they were friendly and John took their presence for granted. There were more stares and pointing now. It was the great wizard, with the usual bodyguards. He was too thin, but was looking happy. And the awful words were whispered again, _The Cha Keeyo Curse. _

He strolled, Trey at his heels. He was pleased that no-one approached. It was such hard work to remember names of numerous strangers. Kupec kept up a running commentary, and Bellamy looked, and felt with his senses, and enjoyed the colour.

"A jewellery shop?" Kupec said, "Would you like to buy Pat a piece of jewellery?"

Bellamy nodded, smiling his pleasure. But the proprietor of the shop looked at him in resentment, and he felt her dislike. Hortense Smythe had been expelled from school because she'd joined in attempts to kill him. But few remembered that episode, and the enormous reward for his death was gone.

John felt uneasy again as he left the shop, and he asked Kupec, who still walked beside him, "Do they still call me Monster?"

"Hardly ever," said Kupec.

"Maybe it was just her, then."

He finally found what he wanted in another shop, where crystal glass glowed and moved of itself. Kupec was coaxed into giving his opinion, which, incidentally, helped him see. A roundabout, with dainty crystal roundabout horses, revolving and glinting in the light.

Bellamy asked if it was all right if he was just sent the bill, and the young man agreed straightaway. Everyone knew that Bellamy had been damaged, that it was a miracle that he'd come back and was even working his cures. He didn't try and tell him that he should know him, though not so long ago, he'd called him 'Grandfather Harry.'

The roundabout was carefully packed in a large box, a freeze charm kept it from moving, and then Bellamy tapped it casually with his wand and it vanished.

"Sent it home?" Kupec asked.

Bellamy nodded.

"No-one else has ever been able to master that spell," Kupec commented. "People keep trying now and then, but too often just lose their goods."

John looked at him, concerned. "I hope I don't lose it. I just did it."

Kupec said casually, "It'll probably be exactly where you sent it." He was beginning to be accustomed to seeing this sudden loss of confidence, but more and more it was as if Bellamy was really back, almost as good as he ever was.

Pat was thrilled, not with her present so much, but with her Henry who was so obviously full of hope and optimism. But surely, it was too soon to go to Italy. She felt a chill when she thought about it. It was where he'd disappeared. But so many of the Khatabi victims were severely crippled. It would be difficult for them to travel.

The conference was arranged without reference to Bellamy - Pat, Bryce, Dieter, Cynthia, and Jilla, the Coordinator. Sixty-four victims of the Khatabi witch in Italy, and assorted others who needed the service. In three weeks, as long as he stayed well. Meantime, he could try and cover demand in England. His patients were those failed by the Stonehouses, and the Stonehouses only saw those failed by the mediwizards. A tentative arrangement, the fourth week of October. Jilla started organising, but the Italian Coordinator could not seem to comprehend that the great wizard remained in uncertain health, and that the visit was only a possibility.

Word spread, and an Italian mediwizard went from patient to patient in his large ward, "The great wizard is coming. You'll soon be cured." A home for crippled children, "The great wizard is coming."

Rosa looked up. "His last letter said that it might be a while yet, because he gets too sick now and then." But her brother was looking at her with shining eyes. He could barely remember being able to walk. Rosa put her arm around the thin shoulders. "He'll come one day, but it mightn't be so soon."

_**x**_

Margaret and Edward were always off together these days, and John went riding mostly with Victor, but occasionally with Peter. Paul, too, joined him sometimes. At weekends, it was always Oliver, honoured that he should be trusted to look after the boss if it became necessary.

Sunday, and John and Oliver returned from a long ride. There was a strong breeze, but the sun shone. The eight foals, now nearly six months old, stampeded around their paddock, bucking and playing in the wind that pulled at forelocks and tails. The spotted foals were in the rear, with Forster last. Forster still seemed to think he was just another spotted horse.

John had forgotten that the sheep were due back, although Archie had warned him. Bob was not far in front of them with the mob of ewes to winter here, where they seemed to do so well, and to have their lambs in the spring. Bob had been coming here for many years, but had never shown any indication of noticing anything unusual.

Forster saw the new attraction, and raced to scatter the sheep and annoy the sheepdogs, one of which snapped at him as he hurtled past. But John's imperative whistle, and more, his imperative thought, made him stop and reluctantly trot back to the boss. Even now, he wasn't to be trusted, and John slipped off his horse, and clipped a conjured lead to a conjured collar.

"I'll take the horses if you like, Boss," said Oliver.

John nodded his thanks and went to join Bob, now that his dogs had neatly sent the sheep into their designated paddock.

After a greeting, and a bit of yarning about stock prices, the weather, and the stupidities of a conservative government, Bob said, "I was in the pub the other night, talking to Cec Arbuckle. I haven't seen him so happy, or not since his first wife died." He gave a sidelong glance at John. "Must be all right being married to a witch!"

John said, "Ummm..."

Bob laughed. "Did you think I could bring my sheep here for over twenty years and not notice it was a touch unusual?"

John said carefully, "Just how many people around do know?"

Bob gave him a look of amusement. "Hardly anyone actually talks about it, but I suspect most around, know." And he added. "Mind you, they don't mind. Not when you let the Pony Club use the indoor arena, or a paddock when they want. And even me having the sheep here, that helps. And you're always good for a donation when something's needed at the village."

John grinned. "Alison looks after the money. I didn't even know about that."

Bob looked critically at the dog. "That brainless mutt! Used to belong to Joe Foster, but disappeared. I don't think he looked very hard."

John nodded. "We brought him home from the pound, as well as Trey here, and an old dog I christened Wilma. She likes to sit on my feet."

"Well, there you go. Anyone who takes useless dogs home from the pound... Well, people are not frightened of daft softies..."

John grinned, and bent, unclipping Forster's lead. "He's not useless, he barks and gives warning when strangers come." He didn't mention that Forster also barked and gave warning when he _imagined_ strangers coming.

Bob gave him a look of amusement. "Cup of tea?"

In the garden, as Bob's three dogs turned haughty heads away from the resident crossbreds, John whistled Oliver over and introduced him. "This is Oliver Barnes, Archie's grandson. He says he's going to stay on and look after the place when he's left school."

Bob shook his hand. "Do you know my grandson, Steve Barton? He must be about your age."

Oliver nodded politely, "He's in my class at school."

Bob said, surprised, "I thought the children from here all went away to school."

Oliver said firmly, "Not me. I wanted to stay around."

John was talking to Pat that afternoon. "We're not so secret from the medj around. The duke had a fair idea, though it seemed Edward didn't, also Cec, and now Bob says it's widely known." He shook his head. "And I got into such trouble just because I worked a tiny bit of magic in front of two nurses."

Oliver asked, and Archie conferred with Pat and the boss. John smiled and Pat nodded. If Oliver wanted to share riding lessons with Steve Barton, and Victor agreed, no reason why not.

"Can I loan him one of the ponies?" asked Oliver.

"Of course. It's only your Badger who's regularly ridden."

Monday's work session passed without incident, and afterwards, Bellamy apparated to Diagon Alley. Again, Kupec was with him. If he collapsed, Kupec would know what to do, but Bellamy was not expecting to collapse. He'd worked the telepathic cure twice that day, and wondered if he might have somehow become better at telepathy, as Dieter said that when he did it before, it had mostly taken longer. Neither of the patients had even appeared to feel it, and the careful warning given to the patient seemed unnecessary.

Bellamy found an ice-cream shop, and Kupec raised his eyes to the sky. It was inevitable. He'd always loved this place, it was part of the legend of the great wizard, and when Bellamy pressed, he agreed. He'd have an ice-cream, too. Bellamy, as if it never occurred to him to do anything else, chose a defensive position with his back to the wall. Jeremy and Larry were not far away, impressive in auror capes, and wearing an air of alert readiness.

A group of people started to gather. Two young women, each with a baby in her arms, were trying to muster courage to approach. Finally, timidly, they approached together. The aurors didn't interfere. One said, "Grandfather Harry, I'm Deborah Abercrombie-Finch-Fletchley. I wanted to show you my baby, Nathan."

Bellamy looked at the woman, greeted her, and accepted the baby, tenderly, in his arms. "Nathan," he said. Nathan reached up, scowled, and pulled his hair, hard.

Bellamy laughed and said what a bright baby he was for his age. "Kupec, look!"

Kupec glanced at the chubby baby, and said, "I'm on duty, remember? I can't be looking at babies."

The other young woman looked scarcely out of her teens, and waited patiently until Bellamy returned Nathan to his mother.

"My name is Nicole Shacklebolt, and my baby's name is Tracy."

Bellamy took another baby in his arm. "She's brown," he said in a tone of wonder. "And look at those dark eyes. She's so beautiful!"

Nicole said proudly, "My husband is descended from men who were your dear friends, Kingsley Shacklebolt and then his son, Jebedee."

"Jebedee?" John said, and then shook his head. A faint feeling that he knew the name was not a memory. But he kissed the cheek of the tiny girl before handing her back. "You are very lucky. She's going to break hearts."

Nicole's eyes shone, "Thank you." She dropped her eyes, and said shyly, hurriedly, "I'm glad you're back."

John laughed, "So'm I." The young women backed off, and then hurried away. It was the great wizard, but he didn't seem at all awe-inspiring, and they were both descendants. It was a tradition. New babies had to be shown to their 'Grandfather Harry.'

Kupec grinned at him. "We'd best go, unless you want to greet a dozen or so more babies. Word will be spreading."

"Why do they want to show me their babies?"

Kupec grinned. "Probably because you think every single baby you meet is the most beautiful baby in the world."

Bellamy cleaned himself with a bit of magic. One of the most beautiful babies in the world had spat up on him. "Abercrombie-Finch-Fletchley, the first one said her name is - that's a big name for a small woman."

Kupec laughed. "The Finch-Fletchleys have always been snobs, and when one married an Abercrombie, they tacked it on."

John knitted his brows. He'd been told - the Abercrombies were one of the families descended from him, and it was a matter for pride to be an Abercrombie. But he was just himself, just John. He shook his head, suddenly remembering a satirical comment by Susan - a Foundation Sire?

"Now what?" said Kupec.

John said, "Drink in the pub?" They turned to walk towards the centuries old pub. Trey, as well behaved as always, trotted at his heels.

A green light shot towards him. In a lightning reflex, Bellamy put out a hand and hit the Death Curse straight back to its originator, who fell dead.

John was shocked, not quite knowing what had happened. The aurors all had their wands out, and two more suddenly appeared out of nowhere, surrounding him. Jeremy was checking the dead man, whose wand had fallen at his side. "Kupec?" John half whispered, "I don't understand what happened."

Kupec glanced at him. John was trembling. Kupec reassured, "You're not in trouble - it was self-defence. Someone thought you might be a bit slow now, I guess, and tried to kill you."

Slowly, tentatively, John walked towards the dead man, reached over, and touched his face. "I've never killed anyone before."

Jeremy glanced at Kupec. Kupec spoke in a very matter-of-fact voice. "It's why you have bodyguards. Nearly all your life, people have tried to kill you. You would not have lived past your teens if you hadn't learned to defend yourself."

John shook his head and stood erect. "I'm not in trouble for it?"

"It was a Death Curse. If you hadn't done something, you would be the one dead." Jeremy stood, holding the body, and disapparated.

Bellamy glanced around. "I'd best go home, there's too many here for safety." Kupec walked with him as Bellamy went to the apparation zone, this one only a courtesy apparation zone. Diagon Alley was not protected with anti-apparation charms, as Bellamy's home was, and almost all of the Ministry building. Bellamy disapparated. Kupec rejoined the other aurors and helped question those in the crowd, hoping that someone would be able to say who the dead man was.

John told his wife that someone had tried to kill him, surprised that she was not more shocked. That he was often a target was not something that she'd spoken about, and the bodyguards had seemed so natural to him that he hadn't even queried their presence. All his life, it seemed, except when he was home with Pat, two or three big men stayed close. That was John's experience of life. Like his erratic eyesight, he didn't question it.

He slept badly that night, dreaming of streaks of green light hurtling at him unexpectedly. Pat soothed him several times, with a touch and a few sleepy words, until he woke fully, knowing that it had happened many times before, and that he had killed that way before, too, by returning a Death Curse meant for him. He lay awake for a time, and suddenly knew he was going to have an attack of pain. Maybe it would be short, and he bit his lip, striving to be silent, striving not to move too much, so that Pat might not know. It lasted not much more than an hour, and he didn't even sleep late the following morning, although he woke with a headache.

He declined his ride in the morning, although Victor was waiting for him. "Just a headache," he said, although Victor looked at him suspiciously. The boss never seemed to have _mild_ ailments.

He visited Clare again that week, relieved to find her looking happier and preparing to go out. A mature woman rang the doorbell as he held his son, and Clare let in the babysitter. Straightaway, the babysitter held out her arms adoringly, "Give me the poppet. Isn't he just _gorgeous?_"

A touch reluctantly, John handed him over.

Clare said to him, as they parted, "Don't worry about us any more, though I'm certainly not refusing the money."

"There are wizards and witches in Melbourne. But you could come to England, if you want, and then he could go to a proper wizarding school. There's none in Australia."

Clare smiled at him. He would like to keep his son, and maybe her, she knew, but it was impossible. He had a wife and teenage daughters. It couldn't possibly work. "I'll call you if I need you, but it's best if you don't come again."

Bellamy knew that she was right. She was a part of John's past, not a part of Bellamy's present or future. But he reached out, very gently, and touched her. "You became very important to me."

For Clare, it had been her job to become important to him, but her feelings had not been just duty, and his had been a lot more than just a man who wanted sex.

That week, Bellamy started to notice more times when his vision seemed to be operating more independently. It was disguised by his familiarity with his surroundings, and by the help of his dogs and the people around him, but one day, he quietly found his glasses, and slipped into the library by himself. For just a moment, he could read, and looked at the page of a book with a growing smile on his face.

He revived from his blackout a half hour later, couldn't find his glasses, broken on the floor, though he groped around for them, and left the library, staggering as he found the door. And yet, he wasn't too disheartened. For a moment, he'd been able to read, and things were bound to improve. He went outside instead, and swung himself up into his favourite tree, though the leaves would be gone, soon. Pat had been searching, but Gabrielle, working in the garden, had seen him and pointed. He was just sitting still, looking into the distance.

Kitty was doing the routine cleaning and dusting, so quick and easy for a witch. She said, "Pat?" and took her to the library, where a pair of broken glasses lay.

Pat smiled. Not yet, obviously, but maybe one day.

Kitty pointed her wand, the glasses came to her hand, repaired. "I'll just put them back where they were. No doubt he'll try again."

Pat nodded. No doubt.

Sidney apparated home from work, and John swung himself easily down from his tree. Dieter had suggested he ask Sidney about what it felt like to be a patient undergoing the telepathic cure, but hadn't said why.

Sidney hesitated, then answered him. Bellamy needed to know. "I was seventeen, and had prickles all over me. You were back, but I decided not to wait, and went to a man called Clarence Holmes, who could do it that way." He spoke now in a low voice. It was his greatest shame. "He had two bodyguards, always had his patients manacled to the wall, disarmed, of course, and then he did the job and cured me. In return, I made the manacles vanish, stunned the bodyguards and killed him."

John said hesitantly, "Why..."

Sidney still looked down. "He was only doing his job, I know. But I felt him in my mind, and the feeling was unbearably awful, and then he did something." He looked up shame-faced. "I knew afterwards, of course, that's when he fixed me, but then…." John waited, and Sidney finished, "I only wanted to kill him, and I did."

Sidney looked up at the boss, who looked so worried. "You came to the trial, and testified that people subject to the telepathic cure could not be held responsible for their actions. You said that you'd been attacked hundreds of times when you did that. You were the great wizard. They listened to you, and they let me go."

Bellamy said sincerely, "Thank you for telling me. I was taking it too lightly."

Sidney grinned suddenly. "So. Can I have a job?"

"If you want, but I thought you liked the one you have."

"Margaret's leaving, and I heard you were attacked last Monday. Archie said you need another security guard."

Bellamy smiled. "I'd be happy to have you, but only if you want to leave your other job. After all, security guards can always be hired."

Sidney said firmly, "I want to work for you. And besides, it's not such an easy thing just to hire extra people when you're as much a target as you are."

"Fix it with Alison, then," and he grinned. "Then, when you call me Boss, it's true."

More changes were in the wind. Alison told him the next morning that she was pregnant, and expected to need a few months off around April next year. He hugged her, and congratulated her. It seemed he didn't need to bother his own head about a replacement, as Alison just said it was all arranged, and leave it to Archie and herself. Pat already knew about it, it seemed, and only said that duties would be shared.

Also now, twice a week, straight after school, and often on Saturdays, Oliver and Steve Barton had riding lessons together. Victor found a great deal of satisfaction in teaching children to ride, and chose one of the ponies for Steve to begin on. Cloud was aged, and almost pure white, but held himself with the pride of an Andalusian. Oliver had often seemed a bit solemn for his age, but was now almost merry. He'd been great mates with the Bourne children when he'd been younger, especially Luke who was only a couple of months older than himself. It was different now. But Steve was Medj, and didn't need, or even know about magic. Very quickly, Steve became a best friend.

Steve's mother usually picked him up in her car, and she, too, met Bellamy and many of the employees. There were beginning to be too many ties with the locals around, and Pat was concerned. It didn't so much matter for the rest of them, as long as they were careful, but Bellamy didn't age. He'd looked like he was in his twenties for well over a hundred years. It could not go unnoticed if he was seen too often by Medj. It was not something that John had thought about, his remembered experience being so short. Pat didn't share her worries with him.

***chapter end***


	33. Chapter 33

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belongs to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/C__hapter 12:_

Another Monday, and Bellamy calmly and efficiently cured those patients put before him, and then went for a long walk through medj London, accompanied by Kupec. They lunched together at a medj pub, and Kupec said casually, "That man who attacked you last week, by the way. It seemed he had no particular reason, except that he wanted to go down in history as the one who finally killed the great wizard."

Bellamy looked at him, surprised. "That seems a ridiculously feeble reason."

Kupec shook his head. "Well, there's no enormous reward like there used to be, he didn't seem to be an aspiring Dark Wizard, afraid of your interference, and there was no reason for a revenge attack that we could discover..."

"I'll hit the curse to the ground if it happens again. I guess it was old instinct. I didn't even know what the green light was."

"We tend to forget sometimes. You're so much like your old self."

Bellamy looked at the man no longer a stranger. Seriously, he said, "My memory goes back about two and a half years. There is obviously some knowledge retained from before then, but nothing, it seems, to do with magic. And I don't think that's ever going to change."

It was time for a final decision, and, as there had been no problems, Pat and Bryce gave their nod to the projected trip to Italy. But Pat would come, extra bodyguards, as Dieter thought very poorly of the Italian aurors, and Bryce would keep a very careful eye on Bellamy. Dieter would be going too, although as Chief Auror, he had other duties. But the welfare of the great wizard was an important concern, and Dieter was reluctant to delegate. The Italians were warned again; Bellamy's health was uncertain. There was no guarantee that he would be able to finish the job, or even cure any patients.

John had an attack of trembling when he joined the large team that was to go with him. But he put on an expressionless face and pretended he wasn't nervous at all. He wished Trey could have come. What if he couldn't cure anyone? What if he became ill and it went on and on as it did sometimes?

Bryce strode in, closely followed by Isaac. John forgot his nerves, and asked, surprised, "Isaac? You're coming?"

Isaac smiled at him. "They said I could come. I can hardly wait."

John said, "There's a beach, Jilla told me."

Pat gave him a look of worry. She didn't plan on letting him swim if she could help it. Of course, anyone else would know it was far too cold, but she couldn't rely on her husband having that much sense.

He and Pat were introduced to two young aurors whom neither had met before. The first was Collette Josephs. John was surprised. He'd somehow thought that aurors were invariably large men. But Collette was not only female, but little more than five feet high.

"I selected Collette because she's so fast," said Dieter. "Even though she's not fully qualified."

Collette smiled at Bellamy. "My mother was Cindy, and her father was Ricky, and they were both aurors and worked with you, too."

After appropriate greetings, Dieter indicated the other, "Reece Young." Reece was of average height, but had narrow shoulders and was even slightly stooped.

"Reece is fast, too," said Dieter, "And since we'll probably be using the telepathic cure a lot this week, speed is essential."

Bellamy nodded. After talking to Sidney, he understood the need for aurors with fast reactions. Dieter casually repeated the names of the others, reminding him in case he'd forgotten. He was sure anyone else would have done.

John hid his surprise when it appeared they'd be going in a perfectly ordinary aeroplane. He'd expected something magical, exotic. No-one had told him, and he hadn't asked, assuming it would become clear. Cynthia Agnew, assistant to McMillan, joined him where he sat next to Pat. Isaac and Bryce were together, and had almost immediately started into excited discussion about a particular medj medical procedure. Nothing to do with John, to his relief.

After a few pleasantries, Cynthia said, "We've allowed no extra observers, but even so, the workroom is going to be too crowded if you don't allow some of us in the Observation Room. That is Dieter, Isaac, Pat and I. No-one else."

John's face was expressionless and cold eyes rested briefly on Isaac. How often had that man watched him from an Observation Room? But he was being silly, and he relaxed, smiled at Cynthia, and said, "I still don't like being watched like a creature in a zoo, but as long as it's limited, I don't mind so much any more."

Cynthia sighed, relieved. Bellamy was getting better all the time. It had been such severe damage, and not all because of Riza Khatabi. "There will be no formal functions, and no speeches at all, though you must know that your presence is very much welcomed by Italian wizardry."

"You _have _told them that I might just get sick and no-one will get cured."

"They've been told, but we're all optimistic that that won't happen, and the workload is carefully scheduled to reduce the faint possibility."

John knew full well that it was more than a faint possibility, but he was optimistic. He felt well, and when Bryce and Isaac wanted to check him over when they arrived at the hotel, he was cooperative.

In his pocket, Isaac had the RAB 3. Bellamy still didn't seem to have any idea that it was around, which they thought miraculous good luck, and tried not to think about it in his presence in case he heard the thought.

They had an hour free before lunch, Pat agreed to the suggestion, and they strolled along the path that led them along the coast. "I think I prefer beaches not so civilised," said John, looking at the cement paths and steps, the area punctuated with buildings for changerooms, children's play equipment, and fast food places. He grinned. "But I don't mind the ice-cream place."

Pat and Kupec exchanged amused looks. Trust Bellamy. But Pat only said, "There's only eight patients this afternoon, so we'll come back then, if you want. It's lunch time now."

John wouldn't have minded an ice-cream before lunch, but obediently turned his steps back toward the hotel.

Kupec explained as a matter of course. They would apparate to the wizarding area in order to keep the location of their accommodation quiet. "There'll probably be crowds wanting to look at you, but we'll keep them away, and also any reporters and autograph hunters."

Reporters? Autograph hunters? John made no comment, only that he'd apparate to Pat rather than be a passenger. Dieter nodded, sent three aurors ahead, then himself wrapped an arm around Pat and vanished, Bellamy a moment later, followed by Kupec and then the others.

John glanced around, suddenly nervous again. What was he doing here? How could he expect to cure people cursed by the Khatabi witch? There were too many people, and they were all looking at him. His eyes fell on a grouping of wheelchairs. There were children who pointed and waved, hopeful, expectant. There was no-one else who could fix them, and Bellamy raised a hand to them. He had to be able to do it. There was no-one else.

"The Vittori family first," said Bryce. "Two children and both parents, all with the Grasshopper Curse."

Bryce was at a desk, Kupec close to Bellamy, and both Collette and Reece also in the room, as they would be all week. It was well known how a patient could turn on his rescuer after this ordeal. The Italian Coordinator, introduced as Gina, pushed in a wheelchair.

Bellamy turned to the small girl. Enormous, yellow, black flecked eyes looked back at him. Her legs under a light blanket were pitifully thin, deformed. Using his own perfectly good Italian, he greeted her. As expected, neither a wave of his wand, or the more intense degree of magic felt by observers as a tingling in the air made any difference. He waved a wand at his chair, which came closer to the child, and he sat next to her, and explained that she might feel a horrible feeling in her head, but it was only him trying to fix her. If she didn't like it, she could scream at him to get out, just in her head, and he would hear and get out. But she was to only do that if she thought she had to, because he wanted to fix her so she could walk again. The child nodded.

He smiled gently at her, looked blindly to the side, and knew her mind. She was frightened, poor child, but she didn't seem to feel him, and it took little time before the change occurred.

He withdrew from her mind and shook his head. It did require deep concentration, and he took a moment before he was fully alert again.

Gina said to the child, "Do you want to try and walk out?" The child was unsteady. She hadn't walked for nearly three years, but she walked out, to the joy of her parents, also in wheelchairs, also waiting for a cure.

Her older sister, similar. Her mother, and this time, a wand was confiscated. This time, just as the cure was made, there was a shriek of rage and long fingernails laid open Bellamy's cheek. He stepped back, and Kupec was in front of him, fending off the furious witch, on her feet when she hadn't been able to walk for so long. And then she was sobbing, apologising. She hadn't meant it, couldn't help it. She was sorry.

"Don't worry!" said Bellamy, "It's happened before," and he went to Bryce, who was already fishing out a white lotion.

Pat said quietly to Bryce, in the Observation Room, "Well, at least he didn't get throttled!"

The father, a big ox of a man. Same curse. This time, Bellamy stood a little further back from his patient, Kupec right at his side, ready to step in front of him. This time, Collette and Reece had their wands out and raised, ready. The man eyed them, daunted. But the rest of his family were cured, and he braced himself as he listened to the warning words. Nearly fifteen minutes. For some reason, this one was harder. But the man didn't appear to feel his intrusion, and his eyes became more normal, if rather fierce, and his legs became fullsize again.

Kupec fended this man off Bellamy, as well, but it was only an over exuberant hug that was intended.

Two more children, and Bellamy said to Bryce, "Just tell me if it's _not_ a Khatabi Curse, and then I won't waste time trying other methods first."

Bryce nodded. The great wizard was working, as well, or better, than he'd ever done. Cynthia, watching, smiled in triumph at the others. Dieter was relaxed. Pat prayed that her husband wouldn't suffer for what he was doing.

Another child, who walked weakly, but triumphantly, out of the room, and then a very young man, given this prized position on the first day, because he was son of the Italian Chief Auror. And this time, Kupec swung Bellamy away from a flying fist, and Collette sent a spell of Immediate Calm, which quelled the wizard. But it was two hours before the man's wand was returned.

"That's it for the day," said Bryce. "I just want to do the Niscos, and you've got the rest of the afternoon off."

Bellamy sat on the edge of his desk. "That was very short! Surely there's a lot more."

"We're trying to make it so you're less likely to get sick."

In the Observation Room, Isaac stole a long look at the RAB 3. No reason for concern.

"Give me your hand," Bryce ordered, and Bellamy allowed him to lay a sensor on the back of his hand, but still frowned at him.

"Are you sure it's the right strategy? Maybe it would be better just to do as many as possible, as quickly as possible, and then if I get sick, at least there'll be more cured."

"We've talked about it. This is the way we've decided."

Bellamy raised his eyebrows. "I don't remember anyone consulting _me._" He turned, looking at Pat through the window, almost opaque from his side. "What do you think, Pat? I've done hardly any work, and made no real effort."

Pat answered him. "How about a short break, and then maybe four more?"

Bellamy turned back to the healer, "Well?"

Bryce said impatiently, "_You _might have heard what she said, I didn't! The barrier is soundproof from this side."

Cynthia and Isaac glanced at each other. They knew theoretically that the telepathic cure could not be performed by someone without well-developed skills in telepathy, but he rarely showed that ability so clearly. Bellamy repeated Pat's words. But Bryce was stubborn. "No. Go and do some shopping or have a swim. There's a heated pool at the hotel. But no more magic today, of any sort."

Dieter waited for the explosion, but Bellamy only shrugged and picked up Bryce's list, wishing he had his book reader with him.

"Rosa and Nino Khanlari, children. When are they booked in for?"

Bryce was almost disappointed. He'd expected an explosion, also. But he scanned through the pages. "Wednesday morning. Fifteen tomorrow, twenty Wednesday, if everything's going OK, and then we'll see about the rest of them. Slow and easy, even if we go into the weekend."

Bellamy said, "Maybe you're right."

Both Dieter and Bryce blinked in disbelief, and they were not the only ones. Bellamy continued, "There's almost certainly going to be some that can't tolerate this method, and will need the strong magic. They should be grouped, and I'll try them again only when all the others are finished."

Bryce nodded. If he had his way, Bellamy would never use the strong magic again.

Pat suggested some shopping - that new clothes were needed, and she wanted to do some Christmas shopping, too.

"Medj or wizard?"

"Medj. This is Rome. There's some great shops, and I made sure to bring plenty of money."

Dieter was listening. "Kupec, Collette, close, Larry, Jeremy and Reece a bit further back."

Pat and Bellamy were accustomed to this, though Pat noted how little Dieter was leaving to the Italian aurors, currently visible here and there, keeping back the crowd. They wore chocolate brown uniform capes with black borders, but a bright yellow and green badge. Most of them seemed to be wearing additional badges as well. Pat knew what that was. The Italians loved giving each other awards, and their force of aurors was more highly decorated than almost any other.

They would apparate to the medj area to throw off any pursuit, but first, capes were removed, and wands slipped into wand pockets in shirts and jackets. Pat had brought a jacket, but Collette started to shiver, before pulling her wand out again and conjuring one.

"What about when it vanishes?" asked Reece, teasingly.

Collette was blithe. "If any medj see, they won't believe their eyes in any case."

John shook his head. He must have been very unlucky - just a shave, and he'd been punished with two years imprisonment, being treated like a lab rat!

Pat had a list. It seemed everyone was to have a present. Bellamy approved. They were not just staff, they were all part of his family, and he paid attention and was happy to help. Pat relied on him to send the packages home by magic, all they had to do was ensure no-one was watching.

Collette yielded to temptation at a glassware store, and she made her purchase, and had Bellamy send it to the hotel for her. She was on duty, and shouldn't have taken her mind off her job, and certainly couldn't impede herself by carrying parcels. Dieter had made it clear to all the aurors that he considered Bellamy almost defenceless compared to the way he had once been. They must be always, extremely alert.

At the last shop, Pat put in a large order that could not be immediately supplied, and organised it to be sent, along with the account. A bewitched 'authorisation,' was enough to persuade the shop assistant that they could be trusted to pay. She looked then at her husband. "Enough work for one day," she declared. "Ice-cream?"

Bellamy smiled at her. Of course he wanted an ice-cream.

A young woman pointed as the group passed, and her cousin next to her stopped and stared. Najia and Zhor Khatabi, now known as Najia and Zoe Kasey, kept away from wizardry these days. They didn't want any of their family finding them. It was Kupec, walking next to Bellamy, who'd alerted them, so big, so black, and he looked so like an auror, medj clothing or not. Even his air of casual alertness was a giveaway.

Jeremy drifted across to shield the backs of the group that contained Bellamy and Pat, and he, too, looked exactly what he was. Najia knew Jeremy, and looking further, saw Larry as well. Jeremy and Larry had been there that very first time, when she'd thought that she and Henry had made love.

She stared at where she knew Bellamy was, though he was no longer visible. He'd deceived her. But he'd given her a moneybelt so that she could escape, and he hadn't really hurt her. It was her own family who had hurt her, and had hurt Zoe a lot worse. The great wizard was walking and laughing with what had to be his wife. But according to Zoe, he was supposed to have been destroyed with the Cha Keeyo Curse. No-one could come back after being hit with the Cha Keeyo Curse.

Sixteen year old Zoe had a great deal of talent, both telepathic and pure magical power. She had located the wizarding area of Rome within days of finding Najia in Italy, but neither of them had ever visited it. With their talents, it was easy to steal enough money to be very comfortable, and they did largely what they pleased, but kept away from wizardry.

_**x**_

Bryce wanted Bellamy to wear a wrist sensor that would be left on all the time, so that he could be continually monitored. Bellamy refused, Bryce insisted, and they wound up having a flaming row. Dieter shook his head. Just like old times. At least Bryce seemed to have the sense not to refer to him as a 'mutation' these days, or not in his presence.

Bryce grumbled to Isaac about the stubborn ox later, but Isaac just grinned. He didn't think Bryce had much to complain about. At least he hadn't had to order special doormats, simply so that the subject could be weighed! They were watching as Bellamy swam, lapping the pool again and again. Jay and Sergei were also in swimming. They were typical aurors, big, athletic and fit, and were covering nights and evenings. Three others stood around. If Bellamy collapsed now, there would be plenty of rescuers. But Isaac assured Bryce that everything looked fine.

They watched for a little, and Isaac commented, "He must be superbly fit. He just goes on and on, and the pulse rate is barely raised."

Bryce nodded possessively. "Except when he's just about dead, he's always very fit. It has something to do with that extremely high LV reading, I suspect."

"His very rapid healing, as well?"

"Probably."

"What about resistance to infections?"

"That's just Wizardkind, I thought I told you before."

Isaac nodded. So that was why John didn't get flu, and why his leg healed cleanly after being exposed to bacteria that should have caused gangrene. Not that he was about to share that bit of information with Bryce. And just in case Bellamy heard his thoughts, he suggested they go for a stroll along the beach.

The following day went smoothly. Fifteen Khatabi victims, all cured using the telepathic method. Bellamy didn't stand too close, though it was easier if he wasn't too far away, either. Kupec stopped another angry customer, but he only became angry after he was cured, and quickly simmered down. Few of the patients even seemed to feel his intrusion, although his own words in his book stated that most probably would. Maybe his telepathy had improved.

Three non Khatabi patients had been added to the list, but these were cured with a wave of the wand, no effort required. Bellamy was filled with confidence and optimism, which didn't stop him falling over a chair that Bryce had quite deliberately moved and then made sure not to look at, or even think about. Bellamy looked at him with a great deal of suspicion afterward, though he did allow him to smear some anti-bruising lotion on his knee.

Najia and Zoe Kasey were among the crowd that watched that day. He was very well protected, and no-one except the aurors and his patients ever had a close look.

Again, they were finished very early, and this time Bellamy asked for one of the female aurors to go with him, Collette or Bridget. He was going Christmas shopping, _without _Pat.

Dieter grinned. "Need advice?"

"My daughters tell me my taste is appalling, that I'm renowned for it."

Dieter nodded, "Quite so. You can have Kupec on duty as bodyguard, but Collette, if she wants, is nominated only as advisor."

Bellamy smiled. "Not so bad to be so well looked after."

Dieter, as he left, reflected that he hadn't become restless yet. He never used to tolerate his bodyguards with such good humour, often simply leaving them behind so he could be alone. Maybe he had changed a little.

Collette pointed to a bookshop. "Look Bellamy, isn't that one of your books in the window?" John could see quite clearly.

Collette pointed, "The one with the brown and white mare and foal on the cover."

John entered, and picked up one of the books. He tried to look, but could no longer see, even when he tilted his head a touch to the side and tried harder. Sometimes, that helped. He put it back down.

"I'm buying one for my baby sister," said Collette, "But I'd best buy an English version."

He looked around at the blur. He could see that they were books, but reading was something he'd lost. The magical book reader was better than nothing, but was far slower then silent reading. There would be books here that Pat would like, but he had no way of choosing them. He shrugged. He had so much. He had Pat, and wanted something really special for her.

He finally chose a wonderful new bedspread at a shop a few blocks away, heavy satin, all brilliant reds, vibrant purples and gold, never giving a thought to how it would look against the soft and subtle pink and beige florals of the bedroom. He was pleased with himself, and paid happily for the bedspread.

Collette would have loved to know what the current decoration of the bedroom was. She suspected that Pat would wind up re-decorating, rather than hurt the feelings of her precious husband.

Isaac glanced at the RAB 3 again as he'd been doing periodically, although not telling even Dieter he had it. If Bellamy knew, RAB 1 would be vanished instantly, he was sure. At the moment, it seemed as if it was totally forgotten. Of course, John had never known it was anything more than a location device.

But Isaac was sound asleep when Bellamy started awake Tuesday night, and then bit his lip hard, trying to be silent. But he twisted in the bed, and gripped the bedhead very tight. His grip relaxed after a while, and he became deeply unconscious. No-one else knew, as Pat didn't wake, and he only felt a little washed out in the morning. He refused Bryce when he demanded to do the Niscos, but Dieter thought it was no wonder. He'd always reacted badly to orders. But Bryce saw that he looked a bit pale and tired, and said no when Gina asked to add extra patients to the list.

He finally met little Rosa and Nino on Wednesday morning, cured them, and accepted the hug from the little girl, though Nino only stared at him silently, terrified because someone had told him it was 'the Monster.' This cure was what John had been working toward for most of the year. Not just little Rosa, of course, but she'd become a symbol to him, that he could be whole again. He wasn't really whole just because of one cure, but it felt good, and he smiled up at Pat, again in the Observation Room. "Ice-cream afterward?"

Pat laughed and nodded, and said to Isaac and Dieter that he'd been writing to Rosa for months.

That afternoon, his run of luck ran out. Two men in a row revolted at his intrusion, and he had to pull back. He was not quick enough with the second, and neither were his aurors. He lay a moment dazed on the floor, while the yelling, struggling man was subdued. Bryce helped him up and he leaned against the wall, shaking his head dizzily.

"Put him at the end of the week with the other," he finally said. "I'll try and use the strong magic, but only when all the rest are done."

The wizard suddenly tore himself free of both the calming spell, and Kupec's grip, but Collette displayed the lightning speed she'd been recruited for, and the man was stunned. Bellamy regarded him on the floor. "Assuming this one wants me to, of course. He doesn't seem to like me very much." His name was Galatea, and he had a skin condition - an angry red rash, boils and warts.

"Four to go, but we'll have a break first," said Bryce.

Dieter nodded. If the healer hadn't called a break, then he would have done.

There was a table and chairs outside, preferred by Bellamy over the comfortable tea-room provided inside. It didn't seem to matter to him whether it was cold or not. Pat only shivered, looking after him, and declared that she was staying inside.

"He's done well over half," said Dieter, staying with her.

"He's doing so well. It's almost like nothing happened," said Pat.

Outside, Bellamy drank coffee, Bryce, as well as Kupec, Collette and Reece with him, and also relaxing. The workroom aurors had their breaks at the same time as Bellamy did, not that they ever entirely relaxed. But Dieter had a team of ten this week, and there were four more not far away.

Bellamy put his coffee down quite suddenly and stared at the crowd. That was a mental probe he'd felt, although he never remembered feeling one before. He'd automatically pushed it out.

Seeing his tension, the three aurors rose to their feet, drawing their wands, Collette an instant before the others.

Bellamy, too, rose, and tilted his head slightly to the side. He frowned, and stared, and then indicated to Kupec. "See those two girls over there. Would you mind inviting them to join me?"

Kupec regarded the exotic pair. "I guess..." He hesitated. "Are you sure?"

"They want to talk to me, and I want to hear what they have to say." They were only girls, unlikely to be dangerous, and Kupec did as requested, though they were all very alert.

On approach, the pair sat in the chairs at Bellamy's table, while Reece and Collette waited close, wands drawn, although not raised. Najia looked at him, and finally said, "My name's Najia. Don't you remember me?"

John said, quite humbly, "I'm afraid I don't remember you."

"I'm Najia Kasey now, but I was Najia Khatabi."

At the name, the wands of two aurors were suddenly pointed at the girls.

John dropped his eyes. "Someone told me. I used you to disperse the Khatabi family," and he said sincerely, "I'm sorry I tricked you."

"Zoe said Grandmother Riza used the Cha Keeyo Curse, but she couldn't have."

John didn't know what to say, and finally just apologised again that he couldn't remember her.

Zoe leaned forward. "Can you send those back, I want to talk privately."

Bellamy glanced at the aurors, and they immediately moved back.

Zoe said, "I just thought you might like to know she's dead. There's no more breeding programme."

Bellamy thought. Had Dieter mentioned a breeding programme?

Zoe said in a hard voice, "She sent my uncle to me, and I became pregnant. I was just thirteen, but I did what I was told. But then my baby was a bit slow, retarded they said, and Grandmother Riza came and put him down. He may have been slow, but I loved him. So I killed her."

Najia said softly, "We both wanted to thank you. You helped us be free. Zoe found me, and for a while, we both lived on what you gave me in the moneybelt." She smiled. "And what I imagined with you was a lot nicer than what happened to Zoe!"

Bellamy looked at the other girl, who looked barely sixteen. _Poor kid,_ he thought, and Zoe heard the thought. The compassion was unfamiliar to her. Abruptly, she stood. "Thank you for talking to us." She turned her back and left.

Najia was hesitant, but then turned and followed her fierce cousin.

Dieter walked over to Bellamy. "Najia Khatabi," he said.

Bellamy nodded. "She thanked me. It seems she doesn't bear a grudge."

"The other one?"

"A cousin, Zoe." Dieter nodded, and said nothing further.

A trolley bearing a slug-like creature was wheeled past them into the waiting room. Bellamy's eyes followed them. "All of these poor people. Just tools so she could get at me."

Dieter said, "Well, she's supposed to be dead, now."

Bellamy nodded, "That's what the girls said, that she's dead."

The slug who used to be a witch looked at him with beseeching eyes, and didn't resist his intrusion in her head. And she, too, was able to walk out the door, although holding firmly onto Gina's arm. They looked back at the great wizard with an equal adoration. Three more, without trouble, and the working day was over.

John was a little tired that day, and Pat looked so severely at him when Bryce said briskly that he needed to do a full examination, that he didn't argue, even when Isaac also wanted to check him over, with his different methods. Bryce said again that he should wear a wrist sensor, saying that it would only look like a watch. But this he would not consent to, and Pat didn't try and persuade him. She could keep her influence with him best by using it sparingly.

He'd almost been expecting it, and Wednesday night he again stifled his sob of terror, and only took a firm hold of the bedhead so that he would not move and wake Pat. There were still around twenty Khatabi ones to go, plus about eighteen others at the last count.

The strange buzzing in his head that was the warning went on and on, and his fear grew. It hurt too much when the pain came. Each time he felt the warning, he thought that this time he could not endure it, this time it would be better to die. He wondered how many times he would have died already, if he'd had the choice, when the pain came.

After twelve minutes, while he sweated in his fear, the feeling in his head eased off, and he hadn't fitted, and the pain did not attack. He couldn't believe it at first. But after a while, there was a dawning smile of purest exultation. He was going to be spared, and maybe it would never happen again. He couldn't lie still now, and he slipped very quietly out of bed, cleaned off the sweat of fear with silent magic, dressed and opened the door, surprised to find both Jay and Sergei there. He hadn't realised that his door was guarded at night.

He was not a prisoner now, and didn't need to make any magic in order to slip past his bodyguards. In a matter-of-fact manner, Bridget, who was patrolling the corridors, was assigned to cover the door of his bedroom, where Pat slept, and Jay and Sergei would come with him.

The aurors all knew that he occasionally had nightmares, and would want to walk off his agitation afterwards. But this time, he was in high good humour, and only strode along the seaside path, laughing and chattering with the big men beside him. He pointed suddenly. "Look, I can see the stars." And he clapped them both on the shoulders. "Even my sight's improving. I'll be able to read one day!"

He turned toward the sea, and sat on the low wall that ran next to the path. There was a swell, and the waves were higher than they'd been the past few days. "I'll go swimming tomorrow after work," he said. "The sea's a lot better than a swimming pool."

Jay and Sergei glanced at each other. Swimming in the sea when he was epileptic? But then he was asking about their families, and what their plans were for Christmas. It seemed he still liked to hear about the Christmas rituals of other people. Sergei leaned against the wall, but looked inland, covering his back, while Jay told him about the family Christmas tree, with the special ornaments brought out every year, some of them originating generations back.

"What about you, Sergei?" asked John.

Sergei kept scanning the surroundings for danger, and said briefly, "My family's not religious. We don't celebrate Christmas."

So John spent ten minutes trying to persuade him that Christmas was wonderful, Christmas was essential, and didn't have to be a religious festival if he didn't want it to be.

Sergei grinned back at him. "If I could find glowchooks and partake of the delights of a fertility festival, _then_ I might be persuaded!"

John laughed, but reddened a touch as well. "Just how much of what I said and did at that time is known?"

Jay said, quite seriously, "The ones who watched the film never spoke about it, and hardly anything is widely known. Outside the Ministry, very few even know you were ever a prisoner."

Sergei said, "There's a few stories, though, that were too good to be hushed up - like the glowchooks."

John half grinned, embarrassed, and was very glad that there had not been too much talk. He said, "We used to play water polo, the soldiers and me. We had excellent facilities provided, including both a heated indoor pool and a larger outside one."

Sergei said, "We'll have a game with you after work today then, if you like - there's quite a lot of us available."

Jay nodded in quick agreement. Much better than Bryce and Bellamy yelling at each other over whether he was allowed in the sea. John was enthusiastic, and Jay and Sergei promised to organise teams, but John had to explain the rules of the informal game, as devised by the soldiers he'd once played with.

"You got on all right with the soldiers, then?" asked Sergei curiously.

"They were good blokes, most of them. Got a touch irritable sometimes, when I tried to get away, but even then I was never seriously punished."

Sergei said nothing. Word had spread. Bellamy had new scars, nasty scars, on his legs where he'd been shot. There'd been other things done to him as well, that were shrouded in mystery.

John touched the watch that covered the bracelet scar on his right wrist. "Three twenty-three, in the morning," it announced, in Mary's voice.

Jay looked at it curiously. John spoke casually. "My youngest daughter, Mary, gave it to me because I can't read a normal watch. Lesley gave me one for the other wrist, that tells me the times in other time zones, and that one uses Lesley's voice."

***chapter end***


	34. Chapter 34

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belongs to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/__Chapter 13_

Thursday morning, Bellamy's good humour and confidence were overflowing, the whole team infected with his good spirits. Najia and Zoe Kasey were escorted to see him when they asked, and Bellamy relayed their request to Dieter. Dieter hesitated. Allowing Khatabis in the Observation Room seemed far too risky. With considerable dignity, and to Najia's surprise, Zoe said that he could hold their wands, if he wished.

Dieter nodded, relieved. He didn't want to upset Bellamy, but he didn't want him killed by treacherous Khatabis, either.

Pat merely greeted them politely and made casual conversation. Najia stared at her in fascination. Zoe was more interested in what was happening in the work-room. It would be another way of separating herself from her family if she could learn to break spells, as the great wizard did. Another way of getting her revenge on her grandmother, her uncle Hicham, too, who'd been so blithely unconcerned with her feelings when he'd done as Riza ordered.

"We'll finish the Khatabi victims early this afternoon," Gina said to Bellamy, "And then there are eleven others booked for today."

Najia and Zoe glanced at each other. All of these sad cripples because of Grandmother Riza. It was revenge, of course, as the great wizard had messed up her plans for the Family, and revenge was an honourable tradition. But when the first trolley was wheeled in, they both looked away from the grotesque face.

Bellamy had seen as bad before, but John hadn't, and looked in horror, before taking a grip on himself and starting to explain how the woman might feel as he tried to work the cure. This woman couldn't speak, but Bellamy felt her desperate yearning to be free, whatever it took. She felt his intrusion, and felt a horror, but her desperation to be cured was greater, and she didn't make that mental scream that he promised would have him withdraw straightaway.

Zoe was listening hard, and because Bellamy was not alert for it, he didn't notice that he was observed in his mind. Zoe's telepathy had been fostered and trained from an early age. She knew minds, and she felt that Bellamy had a wounded mind, though it seldom showed in his behaviour. She listened and learned as he cured the afflicted woman, and she knew the woman's emotions, above all, her absolute joy as she was relieved of the curse that had ruined her life. There had been a tiny baby at home, now a small child, who hadn't had a mother in nearly three years. Those lost years could not be restored, but now there was a future, and it was because of the great wizard. It was routine to the aurors, and the woman was barely allowed to say thank you before Reece and Gina escorted her out.

Zoe and Najia watched several more. Najia didn't understand what he was doing, although Zoe explained, alerting Dieter to her abilities. Dieter was in charge, and Zoe finally turned to him. "I would like to learn how to do it. I think I can do it, but I'll need my wand."

Dieter looked at her doubtfully, and finally asked, "Why?"

Instead of answering that she wanted to send a mother back to her child, tough Zoe said stoutly, "Well, it's a rare skill, isn't it? It has to be well paid!"

Dieter looked at Pat. Pat nodded, and Dieter said, "If Bellamy agrees. We'll ask him when we have a break."

When Bellamy entered the warm tea-room, Najia and Zoe waited for him. Pat was there, too, and had his favourite apple cake ready for him. She was always trying to get him back to a healthier weight. "Zoe wants to try and learn to do the telepathic cure," Pat said, as she handed him his coffee.

Bellamy looked at Zoe, and suddenly accused, "You've been listening when I didn't give you permission."

Zoe glared at him. "I listen where I choose. No-one ever said I should get _permission!_"

The girl wasn't backing down. Bellamy suddenly grinned. "Well, I don't suppose Ethics of Telepathy was a required subject in your household. I'll take more care from now on." He glanced at Bryce. "What do you reckon, Bryce? She obviously thinks she can do my job for me, and probably better."

Zoe tossed back her long hair, raised her rather large nose imperiously in the air, and said, "I _might_ be able to! I can do lots of other things!"

Bellamy said seriously, "Do you have any questions, or have you been listening sufficiently to have a go straightaway?"

"I would like to be with you in the room for at least one more before I try. The barrier interferes."

Bellamy nodded. "You must have a lot more raw talent than I do, telepathy wise. How about pure power?"

Zoe spoke casually, "More than anyone else I know."

"Healer McKenzie says I'm a mutation. Do you want to please him by letting him take his readings?"

Zoe's reply was definite. "No."

Bellamy was enjoying the child more and more. She reminded him of Margaret, though she looked quite different, almost pure Arabic, and small in stature. Najia looked more oriental.

Another helpless cripple, another Khatabi victim, this time a boy of around twelve. Bellamy explained to the patient what he would be doing more fully than usual - that the boy's mind, once reminded by a gentle magical nudge, would know what his body was supposed to be, and return him to that. And like always, he explained that it was just too hard for some people to take, that others couldn't feel it at all, and that if he wanted the feeling of his intrusion in his head to stop, he should yell at him, but preferably just in his mind.

The boy listened carefully, and Bellamy felt his assent. He was another who couldn't speak.

He shielded his own self this time, and Zoe was only able to know his mind to the extent that he allowed. Luckily, the boy didn't feel him, and he went slowly, allowing Zoe to follow, to know what he was doing, and to find the 'place' in the mind that he then touched with his magic.

The boy sat from his hospital trolley, stifled his emotion, and said in a tough voice, husky from disuse, that he was very grateful.

Zoe was equally tough, though she'd felt his emotion, and her question, in the same tough voice, was how much did Bellamy get for curing such a patient.

Bellamy had no idea, and he looked up at Pat, where she sat next to Najia and Dieter. "How much do I get paid, do you know?"

Pat shrugged. "We'll ask Cynthia. She probably knows."

Zoe nodded. It seemed she heard the answer just as easily as Bellamy, though inaudible to anyone else.

Gina waited at the door. "Ready for the next?"

Bellamy held up a hand. "In a minute." And he explained to Zoe that many people could become furious at the intrusion and that if she used this method, she would need to make the careful warnings as he did, and would also need at least one bodyguard. That he knew of one who had used the method who had been killed by his patient, although the patient had been a nice young man, certainly not a natural killer.

Zoe listened with respect.

"Do you want to try the next one?"

Zoe caught her breath, but agreed.

"Don't forget to shield yourself, otherwise it hurts your head if you get thrown out."

Zoe nodded. She knew how to shield her mind, though it was hardly ever needed.

Bellamy thought to himself, Fair's fair, put aside his scruples, and followed her mind as she explained to the woman how she might feel, copying Bellamy's procedure, and then proceeded to explore and to search the patient's mind for the vital touchpoint. It took a lot longer than Bellamy was doing, and he could feel the woman fighting her desire to reject the dreadful intrusion in her mind. And he felt Zoe's utter jubilation as the woman lost her grotesque appearance and became just a pleasant looking, middle-aged woman.

He wasn't deceived when Zoe pretended to be totally unmoved, disguising her triumph with a question as to whether she'd be paid instead of Bellamy. He also knew a bit more about the lost and lonely child, who hid her vulnerability behind a tough veneer.

Zoe snarled at him. "Get out of my mind."

Bellamy said calmly, "You'll have to shield yourself better from now on. A person doesn't have to have telepathy to be able to throw you out and hurt you in the process." His knowledge was from his own book, as it hadn't happened to him in his remembered experience. He went on. "Tomorrow, I won't be needing this sort of cure, probably. There'll be a half dozen assorted ones, probably easy, and then those who couldn't tolerate the telepathic cure," he paused, "And then I'll be trying to raise the strong magic..."

He spoke almost to himself, and Zoe felt his fear. The great wizard had every intention of attempting to do something the following day that he thought might easily kill him, but it was pain that he feared. Pain that he suffered now because of Riza Khatabi, who had tried to destroy him. The Cha Keeyo Curse, the curse which destroyed the mind, totally, irrevocably.

Zoe did the next few patients, closely watched by Bellamy. She was introduced to the patients as Zoe Kasey, a trainee. None of them objected, too desperate for a cure to think of objecting. She was still taking a lot longer than he was, and each of her patients felt her intrusion as something horrible. He reminded her to shield herself more carefully, and to be ready to retreat if needed.

Bellamy was wondering if he should take over again, as he was tolerated more easily by the patients. He guessed he must be better at it than he had been, as it was Zoe's sort of results that had been described in his book. But it was still important that another person be able to work the cure. What if something happened to him? Maybe his mind would split into pieces as soon as he raised the strong magic. Or he might just die.

Najia and Zoe laughed and chattered at lunchtime, Zoe, especially, thrilled at herself, thrilled at her triumph, and taking pleasure in helping others, though not admitting to such an altruistic motive. Quietly, Dieter handed Najia back her wand. The girls were not enemies. Bryce was pleased. Having Zoe do the work meant that Bellamy wasn't working so hard and might delay the next attack of illness.

"Four more Khatabi victims after lunch," said Bryce, "and then eleven others, and that's it for the day."

"Can I stay and try and do the others as well?" asked Zoe, quite humbly.

Bellamy nodded, "As long as Dieter says it's OK, he's the boss."

Pat and Gina had been conferring, and now Gina joined them. "Zoe will get the standard rate of pay for each person she cures, to be paid as soon as she says she's had enough. We'll have the figure for each cure tomorrow, Dieter says."

The first of the patients in the afternoon was a large wizard. Zoe looked diminutive standing beside him. And just as Bellamy was, she was slow to react after deep concentration, but Kupec swung her away from the striking fist, taking it instead on his own strong shoulder, and Reece imposed a Spell of Deep Calm.

"If I do this, I can see that I _will _need bodyguards," Zoe said, dispassionately.

Bellamy nodded, glad that the man had been cured before his self control broke. Another, whom Zoe completed without incident. Then a third, and Zoe looked hot and bothered. The subsequent conversation was not verbal, as Bellamy explained that a few patients became acutely sexually aroused, experiencing the mental penetration as a sort of seduction, another reason that the telepathic method was not his method of choice.

The others in the room looked at each other, bemused, as Zoe and Bellamy communicated without words. Pat, for the first time, felt a flush of jealousy, and wondered, if she wasn't around, whether the pair would be in bed by now.

"Do you want me to do the next one?" Bellamy asked.

Zoe put on her tough face. Nothing bothers me, it seemed to say. "I'll do it," she said, determinedly. But the big wizard with painful lumps all over his body, gave a roar of fury almost before she started, tried to reach her to break her neck, and wound up being wheeled away on a stretcher, stunned by both Reece and Collette, simultaneously. He would be a third one put down for the strong magic on Friday.

They had a short break then, and Bellamy told Zoe that the telepathic cure was seldom needed in any case, and she might find she could do others with just a wave of her wand.

The first of the non-Khatabi victims was brought in, just the Trembling Curse, usually easy to cure, but this one had defeated the mediwizards, and then defeated Juana Stonehouse. Zoe tried, waving her wand, and saying the incantation, _"Finite Incantatum."_ Nothing happened, and Bellamy cured the middle-aged witch, instead, with a wave of the wand.

"Try and _feel_ the spell," he said, as the next patient was shown in. Zoe felt, even asked the man if she might take his hand. The man looked down from his Olympian height, and offered a large hand. Zoe had her head cocked a tiny bit, and she stepped back and waved her wand, forgetting to do the incantation. The enormous protrusion on the man's face became a nose again, though still a large and rather red nose. It might have been what prompted the choice of curse.

"Can I have a go?" Najia called from the Observation Room.

Bellamy laughed up at her. "Why not? I'll be able to retire soon!"

But Najia couldn't feel the spells, though even Najia managed to cure one man.

"We'll go back to Morocco and go into partnership," Zoe said. "We'll live and work together, and never, ever have a man because men are only trouble."

"Some men are all right," said Najia, with a sidelong glance at Bellamy.

Bellamy was grinning at her, and waved his wand at a place in the corner, conjuring himself a chair of his own design. "You girls take it from here," he said casually, and the girls took it from there. Only once was he needed, and then he raised a slightly higher intensity of magic than normal as Zoe listened to his mind, as much as he would allow.

Gina went to Bellamy. "Six patients just arrived from Germany. They haven't seen the Stonehouses, but since you're here, they were hoping."

Bellamy looked at the cousins. "Six more? Probably dead easy."

They nodded, and this time, Najia made the first attempt and cured four, with Zoe doing the other two. Bellamy leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head, and announced that he reckoned he'd done the best day's work that he'd ever done.

He watched them leave, suddenly looking just like two teenage girls, laughing and giggling together. They were coming back the following day. He hoped when he tried to raise the strong magic that he wouldn't just ignominiously collapse. Zoe glanced back at him, feeling his wave of fear, but John had already turned away.

He was soon to be distracted. Sergei's water polo team, Bellamy, Kupec, Reece, Bridget. Jay's team, Bryce, Larry, Collette, Jeremy. Five on each team, with Dieter and a couple of aurors left to be on guard. Luckily, no-one else was wanting to use the pool. Pat and Isaac were provided with conjured chairs, and Dieter sat, too. The Chief Auror was well into his sixties.

Dieter shook his head as Bellamy jumped from the water, and thumped the ball toward the goalposts. "How does he see the ball?" he asked.

Isaac answered, "All the others are looking at it too. It's automatic to him, I believe, to use images from other people's minds, even though he hardly ever appears to know what people are thinking."

Pat put in, "He strongly believes that listening to others' minds is unethical. I think his restraint has become a part of him."

"Zoe is an interesting young lady," said Dieter, and the audience forgot about the game in front of them as they discussed the two exotic girls.

Isaac said, "Bryce wants to examine them. He wants to know if they show the same sort of abnormalities that Bellamy does."

Dieter asked Pat, "Is he worrying about tomorrow?"

Pat answered, "Using the strong magic? If he's not, I certainly am."

They were both watching Bellamy now, as he stood a moment, flicking long hair out of eyes, and casually conjuring a new thong to put it back into the pony tail. A moment later, he was racing Bryce for the ball, stroking very fast through the water, starting to overtake, though Bryce was trying to interfere, rough, his own competitive streak fully aroused.

"We appointed a champion swimmer as one of his own personal guards," said Isaac. "Bellamy beat him over fifteen hundred metres."

"How champion?" asked Pat.

"An Olympic contender," answered Isaac.

Bryce half drowned Bellamy, and Jeremy grabbed the ball, and scored. "Five to four," called Robert, scoring. Three young women came in to the large room, and were routinely assessed by Robert and Malcolm, ever alert for danger. They were obviously ready for a swim and Dieter walked to greet them. "Five all," called Robert, as Bridget scored.

Dieter glanced back, and then spoke to the girls. "How about we let them just decide the match with the next goal, and I'll call them out." They were thanked. The swimming pool was for everyone, not just for the spell-breaking team.

Bellamy had the ball, but suddenly the goal posts were no longer visible. He hesitated, but too many of the aurors were looking at pretty, young women in bikinis, and his shot at goal went wide. Bryce grabbed the ball, passed to Collette, who scored, and Dieter blew his whistle to end the game.

The three women at the side of the pool were frankly admiring. Nearly all the men who'd been playing so exuberantly, were well built, and some of them were quite beautiful. It was a pity the one with the pony tail had so many scars.

Bellamy pulled himself from the water and sat next to Pat. Together, they watched a new game develop, a game as old as life. Some of the aurors would have bedmates tonight, it appeared. Dieter nudged Bellamy and pointed to Jay. "How's he going to explain that he's on duty tonight?"

That night, Bellamy had a nightmare, one that wrenched him from his bed, violently trembling. Pat sat up. She could usually soothe away beginning nightmares, as soon as she noticed him fidgeting and muttering, but this time, her touch only seemed to make it worse. "Just going for a walk for an hour," Bellamy told Pat, pretending he wasn't in a state.

When he emerged from his room, Sergei and Bridget were already expecting him. They'd heard his cry of terror as he woke, feeling ropes around his wrists and imagining drugs in his veins. His nightmares of confinement and helplessness were not usually as specific as this, but it was not so long since there really had been restraints around his wrists and drugs running into a vein.

He said little for a long time, just walked hard, almost frantically, until his quivering nerves began to leave him. Sergei had long legs, but poor Bridget had to really stretch to keep up, even though, like them all, she had the high standard of physical fitness that aurors needed.

It was two hours before he finally slowed and sat on a seat overlooking the ocean. Bridget, with a glance at Sergei, joined him, breathing hard.

Bellamy noticed her then, and sincerely apologised.

"Don't worry," she said. "And Jay warned me when I agreed to swap, that you can give a good workout."

"So, where's Jay."

"In bed with a young woman called Shannon."

"From the swimming pool," added Sergei, leaning his rump casually against the back of the garden seat, but keeping a watch, as alert as always.

"The one in the pink one-piece?" asked Bellamy, showing that he'd noticed more than he'd shown.

"That's right," said Bridget. "Reece is with the blonde, and Bryce is with the slightly older one, who was wearing a red bikini."

"I've never seen Bryce with a woman, though I suppose he must play sometimes."

Bridget grinned at him. "A few of us have tried him, but a man with a total absence of subtlety is not much of a lover."

"Do you know whether Isaac has had any relationships since he's come?" asked Bellamy.

"I think he might be fairly serious about Casey, in Medj Affairs. He had to see her when he made his first trip back to his own world."

"They're not talking about modifying his memory any more then?"

"They've decided he's trustworthy."

Bellamy rose and stretched, but to Bridget's relief, didn't seem to be in a hurry any more. There had been a special training session on acting as bodyguards, though it had turned into more a discussion about Bellamy than anything else. 'High strung,' they said he was. And there was the usual laughter about him seducing the female aurors, though, as far as Bridget could gather, the last time had been well before she was born.

He'd missed sleep again, but seemed all right at breakfast, if not as cheerful as the preceding day. Bryce spoke suddenly. "How about you just don't do it?"

Bellamy met his eyes, and then looked into the distance, and spoke slowly. "Once I finish off the Khatabi victims, it'll be like I'm square, even if I never manage to fix myself." He glanced briefly at Bryce. "I have to try."

Pat looked at him, and looked down at her toast. She wouldn't try and stop him, but she knew how long he'd been up last night, and wondered how this day was going to turn out.

Cynthia was with them at breakfast, though they'd seen little of her for most of the week. She asked, "Are you talking about the strong magic?"

Bellamy nodded, "They'll be last, and there's three. But I don't know if I can do it, and when I tried, without a patient, I couldn't. With a patient in front of me, it could be easier, but I could just fail again."

"It's your funeral," said Bryce.

Bellamy looked up, unsure whether he was joking or not. Pat shivered. It might be his funeral.

Gina greeted them as they apparated into the wizarding area. The Kasey girls were already there. "Twelve additional from other countries," said Gina. "They've been pouring in, but they all say they've been seen by mediwizards, although not by the Stonehouses."

Bellamy said, "I reckon Zoe and Najia can do those, straight after the others, still with the strong magic ones last."

Gina nodded, just as Cynthia asked to meet the Kasey girls. "The Italian Minister for Magic will be here shortly," she told them. "I think you'll be offered jobs."

Najia grinned at Zoe, who grinned back. If they were offered jobs as spell-breakers, they'd take them, though they were already talking about a private practice with bodyguards and independence.

The morning went quickly. Bellamy was needed early, although he only waved a wand. His power, quite obviously, exceeded the Kaseys. Two, a bit later, needed a raised intensity of magic, felt by observers as a tingle in the air. Zoe listened and felt. But it didn't seem to be something she could do.

"I'll send you a book," Pat said to her at morning tea. "There was a lady called Cissy Diefenberger, a young relative of Bellamy's. She found that extra power when she was thirty-nine."

"Yes," said Bryce, "But the sixth time she did it, she had an attack of severe head pain and died."

Not a single one of those present looked at Bellamy. Bellamy asked Pat to pass him the scones.

Gina went to meet a wizard in a wheelchair, consulting her list, and then looking worried. A brown caped auror went to join her, and suddenly the man in the wheelchair jumped out and started to run, followed by his attendant. One was brought down by the Italian auror, although one reached the area unprotected by anti-apparation spells, and was gone.

Bellamy could see very clearly, three aurors standing close around him, all on their feet, watching, wary, and with their wands drawn. Just because Bellamy could get sick, didn't mean that other threats vanished. It could, of course, have just been someone trying to get close to the great man, maybe to ask for his autograph.

Zoe and Najia were deeply involved in discussion with a woman whom Bellamy didn't know. There was a resolution, Najia smiling all over her face, and Zoe wearing her tough look as if she thought the job only what she deserved.

The strangers joined Bellamy, and he was introduced to the Italian Minister for Magic, her deputy, and then to a handsome man who turned out to be the Italian Chief Auror. "My men stopped you being killed," he said, obviously expecting commendation.

Dieter said, "They did a great job. You'd best give them a medal each." The irony in his tone went unnoticed as the Italian agreed that it was deserved. There were a few snide smiles amongst the British. Some of them had awards, but they were always well deserved.

It was time. The wizard in the wheelchair was warned that Bellamy might not be able to do this, that he hadn't been done it since he'd been so badly cursed. But the man felt a horror at the thought of that dreadful intrusion in his head, and this was his only chance.

Bellamy raised the intensity of the magic, starting with that tingle in the air. But that wasn't right, and after a moment, he let it die down. That method seemed to be limited, and the strong magic, as described to him, had no limit. He stared into the distance, searching. He wanted to cure this man. Riza Khatabi had left her victim crippled and deformed. He needed the strong magic.

He paced back and forward, as the man crossed his fingers, and waited, silently, begging in his mind.

Bellamy started again, staying stock still, holding up his wand, head cocked to the side. Where was it? There was a roaring in the room, and a wind swept away Bryce's notes. Bellamy tried to focus it, to pull it back, and redirect it into a cure.

He stopped it and swore bitterly, again pacing the floor. "If only there was someone who could remind me!" he exclaimed to Bryce.

The patient dropped his head, taking a deep breath. Men couldn't cry.

Bellamy dropped back into his chair. "You have a go," he said to Zoe.

Zoe was the most powerful witch or wizard the Khatabis had managed to breed. She tried a wave of her wand, though she really knew it wouldn't work. And she tried to raise that higher intensity of magic that Bellamy could use, but couldn't do that. "The telepathic cure?" she said to Bellamy. "Maybe a woman might not be as much resented."

"Alphonso?" asked Bellamy. "Zoe has cured several people with the telepathic cure. Maybe it would be easier for you to tolerate a woman."

Alphonso looked at the small woman, hardly more than a child. Maybe it would be easier, and he nodded, handing his wand to Kupec who stood close to Zoe. Reece and Collette drew their wands, but Alphonso ignored them. He needed to be cured. But almost as soon as Zoe started, he almost screamed, "No!" and Zoe reeled back, holding her head.

Alphonso was upset. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you. You're just a little girl!"

The tough little girl straightened, and said, "It'd take more than you to hurt me!"

Bellamy smiled. The girl's courage shamed him, and he said, "I'll try again."

Again, he started just with that tingle in the air, and tried to intensify it more and more, trying to break through that barrier that seemed to be the limit for the method. He stood, wand raised, beginning to tremble with the effort he was making, trying to direct the magic that was not quite enough. He wanted that man cured. The man gave an exclamation as his legs suddenly felt strong, and he touched a hand to his face, that was now normal.

John collapsed in his chair, trembling violently. Bryce shook his head. "It was not the strong magic as we know it, but you've cured him."

John was very pale. Pat, watching, was acutely concerned. The man was stammering his thanks, but Reece only tapped him on the shoulder, to point him out the door. Bryce was tending to John, who wasn't objecting, still trembling, still pale. In the Observation Room, Isaac was looking carefully at his RAB 3, checking for the subtle changes that were the warning, noticing the signs of hurried pulse. He kept a watch, trying to ensure that none of the others saw him. Pat made sure she didn't see.

Dieter went to the work-room, and waited until Bryce went back to his desk and made a couple of quick, jotted notes, before raising his eyebrows questioningly at Bryce. Bryce said, "Stubborn ox says he'll have a half hour break, but is determined to try them all."

Dieter said calmly, "We could just send them away."

Bellamy was leaning forward, head in his hands, but looked up. "I wasted energy that time. I'll know better next time, and if I can't do them, I won't."

Zoe said, "Do you want me to stay in the room?"

"Not for the next one. I'm going to try the telepathic cure. It's the one who tried to kill you for doing the same thing."

He went outside for a moment, looking at the sky, and taking a few deep breaths, while Dieter and Bryce made sure it was the right patient who came in next, the one who had already attacked Zoe, not the one who had attacked Bellamy.

A few minutes later, a large wizard with lumps on his face, was shown in. He looked ashamed of himself, and said, "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to attack the little girl. I couldn't help it."

Bellamy said, "No-one blames you, and I'll have a go this time. But it seems I can no longer use the same power as I could muster before." And he explained that he wanted to try the telepathic cure again, that he seemed to be better tolerated than Zoe, that the man should try and endure, but tell him to get out if he needed to."

The man said, "You can't do the strong magic?"

"I failed when I tried. I think it's gone."

The patient nodded. "There's no choice for me, then."

"Wand?" said Reece, and the man handed over his wand. This time, Kupec stood almost in front of Bellamy, and very close, while both Reece and Collette had their wands raised. The patient looked at the threat, daunted.

Collette spoke, "We'll just stop you hurting anyone if we need to, nothing else."

The man heaved a deep breath, and tried to conceal his fear.

Bellamy said casually, "I'll start in just a moment, I just need to gather my thoughts."

Zoe grinned. He was already in the man's mind, she was listening. The man shook his head suddenly, and grunted. Carefully, slowly, figuratively on tip toe, Bellamy withdrew, retreated and leaned against the wall, "OK, you're done!"

The man looked at him suspiciously, and raised a hand to the massive lump that had been on the side of his face, one of the lumps that had plagued him for the last three years. He beamed, "That was a dirty trick!"

Bellamy nodded. "Unethical."

The man nodded. "Unethical. Thank you."

He held out his hand, and Bellamy shook it, although Kupec stood right at his shoulder. "A warning doesn't always help," commented Bryce.

Bellamy glanced at him. "No. It doesn't."

Time for the third. This one was the one who had knocked him to the floor before. Zoe called, "Can I come in for this one?"

Bellamy cautioned, "He could be dangerous!"

Zoe treated his warning with contempt, and Najia looked after her cousin admiringly as she left the Observation Room and entered the work room.

"Galatea," Bellamy greeted the wizard with the irritated and painful skin.

Galatea looked at the floor. "Sorry I hit you, and thanks for trying again."

Bellamy said, "There's no guarantee, you realise. I'll do my best, but there's no guarantee."

Galatea looked at him. "The fellow outside said you worked the telepathic cure, and this time it was all right, but it was too awful. I can't!"

"I don't think there's any point trying that again. I'm just going to try with power."

Galatea said, "You're the great wizard. I've heard about 'the strong magic.' They say it's frightening, but I'm not easily frightened."

Zoe said defensively, "Bellamy was hurt too, you know. He might not be able to do it." Galatea didn't answer the girl.

Bellamy said only, "Very well, I'll start," and he stood in front of Galatea and raised his wand. This time he tried wishing that the man was cured, and then adding that surge of power, as he used to do when he was re-learning his skills. The man was unchanged, but he hadn't expected him to be. Riza Khatabi's spells were not so easily overcome.

He sought again within himself, for the knowing of 'the strong magic,' but no knowing came to him. He made no useless wind this time, just going next to the intensified power that was felt as a tingle in the air. As he'd done before, he tried to push it further and further, holding it, pushing, finally starting to tremble, until he was shaking violently, defeated. Kupec grabbed him as he staggered and steered him to the chair. John collapsed into it, his head swimming a moment, before he gathered himself, and said, "I'm sorry. I can't do it."

Galatea raised his voice. "You _have _to do it. Try again."

Collette tapped him politely on the shoulder, and said, "It's time to leave, sir. He can't do it."

The man took a step toward John, roaring at him now. "You have to fix me!"

Zoe stepped between them, wand raised, and voice cold. "You yell at Bellamy once more, and warts will be the least of your worries."

The wizard looked at the girl, looked over her at John, and spat, "Call yourself a great wizard!"

He turned to go, Zoe raised her wand, but paused as Bellamy cautioned, "Zoe!"

The girl was trembling as well, in rage. "I was going to turn him into a hog."

Bellamy said, "I'm not saying he wasn't rude, but you have to understand he's very disappointed."

Zoe turned to him. "I don't understand you. You know you're terrified of getting ill, yet you try your hardest for a pig like that!"

Bellamy frowned at her. Did she have to tell _everyone_ he was frightened? And he glanced at the Observation Room. There were the three Italian Ministry officials there, now, as well as Cynthia, and Pat, Dieter, Isaac and Najia.

Dieter entered the room, not mentioning the failure, or that the new Italian spell-breaker had come close to turning a patient into a pig. "Lunch here, we pick up our things at the hotel, and then we fly home."

Najia sat next to Pat, at lunch. They had to call in Bellamy, who was outside again, almost as if he was feeling the sky. Zoe sat at the far end of the table, watching Bellamy, watching his wife, unashamedly prying into the minds around her.

John was abstracted, not taking any notice of the girls, and barely being polite to the important Italians. There was Galatea, one last victim of Riza Khatabi. He had failed, and now he was frightened that he was soon to pay for the attempt. He hoped it would at least wait until he was home. Maybe he should apparate while he was still all right.

Isaac touched Bryce on the shoulder, and Bryce left the room with him. John didn't notice, though Pat did. Bryce said, as he'd said before, "A warning doesn't always help," and they only discussed whether he would be best taken back to the hotel, or left to wait it out here.

John put his fork down and said to Pat he just wanted to go outside. Kupec was eating, but rose and was at his elbow. He hadn't missed Isaac's whispered message, and was alert for problems.

John leaned against the wall of the building, looking out over the square. It was a comfort having Kupec at his shoulder. He didn't remember that he used to fret at the eternal presence of bodyguards. Once he would have just apparated home by himself if he wanted, taking Pat as a passenger. But he didn't yet have the confidence to take a passenger when apparating, and he felt as if he needed Pat close right now. "Just walk to the end of the square?" he said to Kupec.

Kupec nodded. Bellamy never used to ask if something was all right, he just did it. But he wasn't fifty feet from the building when he suddenly turned and started back, beginning to stumble.

Zoe whispered to Najia, "He's terribly frightened and he wants to hide. He knows for sure now he's about to be ill."

John gave an agonised cry when the pain hit, but no-one heard him, as Zoe screamed at the same instant, and then started into shrieking sobs, feeling his pain. Najia held her cousin, telling her that she had to block it, that it was not her pain. She had to block it.

For John, it was a comfort being held in Kupec's strong arms as that first agony shook him. Kupec carried him back inside, where Bryce already had a bed prepared in an inside room. He was put down gently on the bed, and Isaac asked Najia to _please_ get Zoe away. She was too noisy, and Bellamy always fitted if there was disturbance.

Bryce glanced at the girl, told her to wait, and instead, muttered the incantation for a silencing shield around the room where the sick man lay.

It was the sound of Zoe's agonised sobs, feeling his pain second-hand, that conveyed to some of the others just what Bellamy endured, mostly without a sound, although that was not because of any stoicism, but because making noise, or moving about, only made the pain worse. The best he could do was just to lie quietly and endure, until the end came. And it was when Zoe suddenly relaxed in her cousin's arms that they knew the pain had stopped.

Bryce came out of the silenced room. "He'll be right now," he said to Pat.

Pat was relieved. "It was only about fifteen minutes. He got off lightly."

Cynthia glanced at Zoe, finally quiet, and asked, "Does it usually go longer than that?"

Pat nodded. "Usually longer."

Dieter said, "We'll wait until he wakes, and then apparate back to the hotel, and fly home as planned."

Pat went to where Najia and Zoe sat close, touched Zoe gently on her tear stained cheek, and asked if she was all right now.

Zoe sniffed, and sat up. "He said I had to learn to make a better shield. It was my own fault."

Najia said, "You've never been like that when you've been close to other sick people."

"I've never felt pain like that! And I could feel his mind, too. And it's just like he thinks, there's a black hole, but I think it might be like a solid shield he made himself, and not damage that Riza left."

Pat looked thoughtfully at her, and then called over Bryce. Zoe repeated her words, but was unable to clarify them further, and after a while, Bryce just went back to Bellamy and used his consciousness monitor to gain a rough idea whether he was close to waking.

Najia was talking to Pat. "They wanted me to have his child."

"He told me."

"They'd tried before, several times, but no-one succeeded. They said some men just don't like girls very much."

Pat smiled, and Najia asked, "What are your girls' names?"

"Susan, Lesley, and Mary."

"I thought it must have been that. There was a new bedroom prepared, with bars on the window, and an external lock. They said a girl called Mary might be coming soon."

Pat shivered. Henry had been right. They had been after Mary.

In the other room, John opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling. Even here, Kupec was on guard, just leaning against the wall and watching over his charge.

Kupec felt privileged. His father had died doing duty as bodyguard for the great wizard. This week, the great wizard had been great again, curing those whom nobody else could cure, even if one had been left. Probably, one day, he could do that one, too. It was just too early yet.

Slowly, carefully, John sat up. It was going to be all right. It was not going to one of those terrible times, when the pain hit again and again. He looked at Kupec. "Thank you for getting me out of sight. I hate being seen when that happens."

Kupec was a dark blur in the corner, but Bellamy could sense his presence. He nearly always had a very good idea who was about him, even when, as now, his eyesight seemed to be barely functioning at all. But Kupec only said, "All in a day's work," and steadied him as he rose from the bed. Kupec waved a wand, and the bed vanished, to John's surprise.

Kupec explained, "It was conjured, ready just in case."

John reddened. It appeared as if he wasn't the only one who'd been expecting it.

Still shaky, he joined the others. Pat smiled at him, and tactfully fended off too many anxious enquiries. He slept on the aeroplane, and Kupec offered to take him home. Bryce put in that he absolutely should not apparate, and John nodded. He wasn't arguing.

Dieter took Pat, Kupec took Bellamy, and they appeared in the apparation zone of home. There was a chorus of ringing neighs, and God Wot? jumped a fence, followed by Naji, but even before the horses arrived, Forster was on top of him, knocking him over. Kupec picked him up, grinning. "I wish I had a welcome like that, possibly minus the spotted dog!"

John was laughing, petting Forster, and then Trey, as he arrived from the house, and hugging the two horses that nuzzled and snorted at him. It was very good to be home.

***chapter end***


	35. Chapter 35

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belongs to J. K. Rowling (but a lot of this is pure mine.) _

_Part 3/__Chapter 14_

There was little time to brood over the successes of the week, or the one failure, as breakfast saw a visit by Oliver to the private dining room, where Pat and Bellamy nearly always ate.

"It's a gymkhana, and it's only thirty miles away, and Steve and I are going, and I want you to come too."

John smiled. "Nothing I'd like more."

Pat thought, _Typical!_ but only asked Oliver if his parents were going.

Oliver said, "Mum and Dad in our car, and the boss can go with Grandma in the panel van, and Steve and I with Victor in the horse box." And he grinned. "It's all arranged, and there's all of us Barnes to look after the boss if we're needed."

John raised an eyebrow at Pat. "OK?"

Pat nodded, smiling, "Well, with all of those Barnes to look after you, you can't go wrong."

John was eager, and Trey followed at his heels, as he went outside with Oliver, who was already dressed and ready. Badger and Cloud were being loaded into the horse-box, Steve's mother, Kay Barton waited, car parked close, and John walked across to talk to her.

"My Steve's thrilled," she said. "He's never done this before."

John grinned. "Well, Oliver's done it several times, and he appears just as thrilled."

Forster suddenly galloped towards the apparation zone, barking furiously, but as he did that nearly every day, not even the other dogs took any notice.

Ursula strolled out. "We're going in an hour, and if you feel ill or tired, you're to tell me, and we'll come straight home."

John went to her, hugged her, picking her up and twirling. "Not ill, not tired, fit as a fiddle!"

Ursula smiled at him. He'd used a lot of magic that week, and she'd already been told - only one short episode of pain. The RAB was back in her possession, which would give her probable warning of problems.

Steve and Oliver had a wonderful time that day, watched by two sets of parents, and racing to the boss as well, and telling him every time they did anything. Even Steve had adopted the convenient term of 'Boss.' Oliver did poorly in the jumping, Steve won a best rider event, although Victor said critically that it was only because he had the best looking pony, and Oliver fell off Badger, but then came third in a bending race.

John was seeing well, Trey at his heels, and a whole crowd of proud parents watching their children, to help him see.

Ursula got a little tired and fed up, but lay down on the soft bed in the back of the panel van and had a nap. It was only a small town gymkhana, but John's experience of life was still so limited, that, to him, it was a treat.

There was a lot of discussion about the ponies the boys rode. Victor said they needed mounts a bit more lively than the ones they rode. "But all the horses are too big yet. We need something in between."

Kay said, "Well, Shane and I were planning on buying Steve a horse for Christmas."

Victor offered, "I'll help, if you like."

Kay accepted with pleasure. She was no longer nervous of Victor, when her son said all the time how wonderful he was.

John mentioned, "There was a small mare that Paul showed me a few months ago. She's only 14.3hh. I wonder if she's still around."

Victor pointed at Steve, cantering Cloud in a circle not far away. "Pretty pony, but it's time she was retired."

John nodded, and said, "Might go over to Paul's tomorrow. Want to come?" Victor said that he'd see.

Pat mentioned to Bellamy that evening that he was to have the next week off, and would start working again the following Monday, doing as many as required.

John spoke to the ceiling. "I wonder when anybody will start asking _me_ what I can or can't do."

Pat looked at him doubtfully, and then he grinned. "I know you're just trying to look after me, but I do have some sense, you know."

In the early hours of the morning, Pat slipped out of bed to go to the toilet. On her return, she suddenly noticed that her husband was lying on his back and was quite still. He always slept either prone or on his side. Gently, she touched his shoulder that was slick with sweat, and then turned on the light. She shook his shoulder, trying to rouse him. She was sure then. He'd had another attack of pain, and now he was not merely asleep, he was unconscious. Part of the undersheet was twisted in his right hand, and she lay back, tears in her eyes. He'd been in agony and had been silent, not wanting her to know.

Bellamy sighed and turned on his side, not waking. So he was only asleep now. There was no need to wake Ursula, or do anything except go back to sleep herself. But Pat only switched the light off again, and lay awake, worrying.

In the morning, John found Paul and Victor both waiting to ride with him at his regular time. As they talked about Oliver's need for a small horse, he turned to Naji and buried his head in her mane, biting his lip. She stepped a little closer to the boss. Trey whined. This would be the third time in three days. He knew he'd been let off too lightly. The Italian patients, all but one, were cured, and the Kaseys and the Stonehouses could deal with nearly all the rest of them. Maybe he was free to die, and never, ever suffer the pain again. The warning intensified in his head and then died away.

Victor and Paul mounted, but had to wait for the boss, as he was trembling too much to mount, but he was obviously all right, smiling, happy, full of good spirits. Paul still had the small mare. It was sentimentality, because Bellamy had wanted to keep her not so long before he'd disappeared. Paul had not been able to bring himself to sell her, but hadn't bred her to a stallion, either, as she was too small. She wasn't even broken in. Paul said they called her 'The Runt,' and she had no other name, just a number. But she had good conformation overall, and the boss knew horses in a different way than merely looking at them, and he said she was a good horse.

Victor looked at her critically, then turned to Bellamy. "I'm too heavy to ride her, but I reckon if you can resist teaching her to buck, you could get her accustomed to being ridden before Oliver tries her."

John grinned. "So I join in the riding classes then?"

Victor nodded. "Seems a good idea to me!"

There was more discussion then, an outgrown horse that Marcus had ridden was to go to Bellamy's and a couple of the ponies were to go to Paul, who had a new employee with two girls of five and seven. John stared into the distance as that unpleasant buzzing rang again through his head. But again he was spared. A buzzing in his head was nothing, and maybe the pain would never come again.

So he happily made friends with the black mare, and said that Oliver would have to give her a proper name. Marcus brought over a palomino gelding and stroked him, "He's called Maguire, and he's great at the novelty events, and knows them backward. That was when I was a lot younger of course. He's fifteen now, and never did jump worth a damn, but he's quick and agile and will be tickled pink to be ridden again."

Monday after school, Oliver and Steve found Badger and Cloud saddled and ready for them, as usual, but also there was Maguire for them to try, and the boss was talking to a glossy black mare, and Oliver was to name her, though he couldn't ride her yet.

Bellamy had never broken in a horse, always just hopping on, generally bareback, and riding. But the little mare had to become accustomed to bridle and saddle, and had to learn to go quietly for a child rider. Under Victor's stern eye and the interested eyes of the boys, he saddled and bridled her, and when she stamped her foot and rolled her eyes, only explained to her that she was grown up now, and grown ups often had to do things they didn't like.

"Lead her around a while," he was told, and Victor turned his attention to the boys and introduced Maguire.

A little while later, Oliver and Steve were neatly cantering in circles as Victor watched critically. Then they were changed, and Steve rode Badger, and Oliver tried Maguire.

John leaned against the fence, the black mare beside him. Victor, watching him out of the corner of his eye, thought that it was like they were gossiping together. "Now you, Boss," he said, suddenly turning on him. "Hop on the mare and just canter behind the other two."

The boss had unusual talents. No-one could be expected to train and ride a horse within an hour, but the boss _talked_ to horses. Five minutes later, the black mare cantered the same neat circles as Badger and Maguire. Victor shook his head at Bellamy. He slouched in the saddle, his stirrups were far too long, and his reins hung in festoons. He'd never win a best rider event, that was for sure!

In the next few days, John felt more times when his head buzzed in that horrible feeling that had previously been a prelude to agony. But each time, it just went away again, and he was full of optimism and good cheer. He continued to ride the black mare, christened Sparks. She no longer shook her head when the bit was put into her mouth, and she watched Maguire and Badger as they practised for the bending race, with alert interest.

"Soon," John told her. "Don't be impatient."

"There's a big horse show in December," Oliver told Victor, but Victor said he had to learn to ride a lot better before they would be thinking of taking him such a distance. "Don't be impatient."

Margaret and Edward were full of plans for their wedding. Boxing Day so that Susan could be bride's maid, and all the other young ones could be there, too. Edward's mother had wanted a big wedding and not on Boxing Day, but was a little daunted by Margaret, and never quite got around to mentioning her preference.

"At the Lockwoods, and everyone here is invited, of course. There'll be a dozen or so of my own friends, and you'll need to nominate a couple of aurors as your bodyguards."

"Surely I don't need bodyguards at your wedding!" John protested.

Margaret looked at him seriously. "_I _say you do, and Pat will, too. It's known that Peter and I work for you, and I don't want my wedding upset by having spells shooting here and there."

"That doesn't sound very likely!"

"It's happened. When you were young - a mass duel at your best friend's wedding."

John felt a sharp pang of loss. Who had been his best friend?

Margaret glanced at him and continued, pretending she hadn't noticed him suddenly looking so lost. "We're having six weeks' honeymoon, travelling, and then we'll live at the castle, but in the West Wing, so Pam and Norm won't be tripping over us all the time. The repairs of that part will be completed while we're away, though the other repairs will take a lot longer." Then she kissed him. "I don't think you understand what a generous gift you made. Norm says that it was a major worry."

John smiled at her. "Alison said we could afford it. She said those useless shares in a useless gold mine are suddenly paying dividends. That maybe it wasn't such a colossally bad investment after all."

Margaret grinned. "Well, Des was very plausible, as well as having a great body. So I'm pleased he's making good." Margaret, once married, would no longer be on the payroll. "Mother-in-law," she said. "Her nose actually quivered as she said that I couldn't possibly remain a _servant_."

Bellamy smiled. "You never have been a servant. I remember you ordering me to eat a birthday cake you made when you were little. That doesn't sound like a servant."

Margaret stared at him. "You _remembered?_"

John looked at her, rather alarmed. "It doesn't mean anything. Just a memory of one incident out of a lifetime. Don't go telling everyone."

Margaret was looking at him assessingly. "Have you remembered anything else?"

He shook his head. "Just that, so forget I told you."

But Margaret didn't forget. It made her feel very special, that she should have been remembered, when everything else was lost.

Saturday at breakfast, John told Pat that he'd be off that day with Victor and the Bartons, to help choose a horse for Steve. "A horse breeder Victor knows. Specialises in horses suitable for Pony Club."

Pat looked at him dubiously. She hadn't objected when he'd made visits to places close, Bob Barton's, Cec Arbuckle's, and Norm Lockwood's. But there was always someone with him, and they were not so far. He'd never referred to that episode of pain when she'd been asleep, and she wondered now how many other times it might have happened and she'd never known.

But Victor spoke to her afterward when he was out of sight, reassuring her that her husband would be looked after, telling her exactly where they'd be, and that Ursula knew and had already agreed to drive the panel van out if needed.

"He hates to be treated like an invalid."

"Does he want to go to any of the wizarding social events?"

"He still shies off from meeting people who know him, when he doesn't know them. And I think he's a bit frightened of collapsing in front of crowds of people, as well."

Oliver was going too, and when the Bartons drove in, Steve announced that he and Oliver would be going with Victor in the horse box, and that the boss was to go with Mum and Dad. Pam introduced her husband. Shane said, laughing, that at least Bellamy could supply some knowledge, all he was there for, was his cheque book. Trey wasn't going, and John touched around briefly before getting in the car. Oliver put on his seat belt for him, as he couldn't seem to find it.

Shane raised his eyebrows at Kay. He was acting almost as if he was blind.

There were three horses, all of about 14.2hh, that the breeder said were suitable. All nicely broken in, all quiet. Two were particularly attractive, one a deep golden colour, with white mane and tail, another similar, but lighter coloured. The third was just brown.

Kay fell in love with the first. "We'll call him Thowra, after a horse in a book I read once."

Bellamy talked to him, and then went to the second, although stumbling over an obstacle on the ground. Victor was also assessing them, and finally asked, "What do you think, Boss?"

Bellamy was definite. "If you want a good tempered horse, that feels as if he can jump, I'd go for the brown."

Steve asked, "Are you sure, Boss?"

"I'm sure."

Victor said, "Well, he has the best conformation, though I admit the others are attractive."

"Try him over a few jumps?" asked the breeder. It would be good to sell the brown. He never had the slightest trouble selling the palominos, even though their price was considerably higher. Kay gave a longing look at 'Thowra,' and suggested they try that one, too.

Steve rode both horses in turn, unable to decide. Victor said, "We'll get the boss to put him over the jumps, and see what talent they have."

John did as requested, cantering the brown horse first, and saying to him, quietly, "We're to do some jumping. Can _you_ see any jumps?" And, quite suddenly, he could see clearly, and popped the horse over a half dozen low jumps, and started to trot him back to the waiting riders. His head buzzed again as it was doing more and more often, and he could no longer see and no longer balance. He fell off, almost at the feet of Victor, and was pale and swaying a touch when Victor helped him up. But then he shook his head, claimed he was perfectly all right, and swung up onto the back of the palomino, watched very doubtfully by his audience.

He was fine this time, and only said as he slipped off the horse, that he still thought the brown was most suitable. But then he leaned against the fence and wondered whether he should mention to Pat how often his head was feeling very strange. But it was so much better than the pain that it seemed almost insignificant, and he shrugged and decided that it would probably go away, as the attacks of pain had gone away.

Steve checked with Oliver, checked with Victor, asked his parents, and finally decided on the brown horse, not even a white stocking or blaze to make him a little less ordinary looking. Kay was regretful, but Victor assured her that the boss always knew. "Storm," the breeder said he was called, and Kay cheered up. There'd been a 'Storm' in her favourite book, too.

On the way back, there were two more times when John felt the strangeness in his head. Kay looked around at him once when he failed to answer a question, and saw him leaning his head back, pale and sweating slightly. She was relieved to get him home safely. But he thanked them for the ride, and didn't even seem in a hurry to go inside.

Sunday, John relaxed, as his head felt perfectly normal all day. Pat kept a close watch, as Victor had reported the fall and his apparent dizziness.

Monday, he chattered and laughed with Lucasta Stonehouse. At first, he was concerned when she abused him for losing them three quarters of their customers by recruiting the Kaseys. But then she said, "Mum and Dad have been pestering us to come home, so we're going home for Christmas, and Juana doesn't want to come back."

"Australia?"

"New Zealand. We told you when we first wrote to you."

"Of course," said John, perfectly as if he remembered.

Lucasta smiled at him. "Sorry, I forgot."

John reddened, and asked how many patients she had.

"Fewer than normal, now word's spread about the Kaseys," said Lucasta. "There's quite a few from Japan, though. It seems we're getting better known there."

After curing a dozen patients without the slightest trouble, John picked up Trey, and apparated, not home, not to Diagon Alley, but to medj London, and without any aurors. The pain no longer attacked him, even those episodes of buzzing in his head had stopped, and it was obvious that he was fully healthy and would not get sick ever again. He could even see quite well, significantly, those things that were out of sight of Trey.

He spent a great deal of money on gifts for his girls, for his wife, and for all his friends who were his staff and the children of his staff. Pat worried, but he'd told her that he was going shopping after work, and didn't give her a thought. He was having a wonderful time. There was a bookshop, and he could almost see. At least he could see enough that he found a pile of those little books with the mare and foal on front.

"A Classic," said the bookshop man. "It's a favourite Christmas present for children."

Bellamy bought one. It was his own book, Collette had said, and he must try and read it. Maybe he would try his glasses again, and this time he wouldn't need the book reader.

Dieter swore when the report came in, that Bellamy was wandering medj London alone, and he sent three aurors to keep an eye on him. Ones he wouldn't know. It might be that he was no longer being docile.

There was an ice-cream shop, and John sat outside in the cold and ate one himself, and gave one to Trey.

At home, Kitty happened to notice a large new pile of packages in the store-room. She told Pat, and they watched together, as another very large parcel joined the pile, and within ten minutes, another. Pat shook her head.

Kitty laughed. "He must be having a good time!"

"Dieter always makes sure that Kupec's with him," said Pat, reassuring herself.

John suddenly felt people watching him. Wizards. He stepped into a dark alley, picked up Trey, and disapparated, but only two streets back, where he'd already been. He went into a pub this time, hoping that no-one would take exception to his dog. He was very happy, and the drinks he took to his table were happy drinks. Happy or sad, it was a very long time since he'd consumed much alcohol, and by the time he picked up Trey again, and returned home, he was very drunk.

Sidney was on duty at the apparation zone, and whistled up a helper to take over, as he steered the boss toward the front door.

"I'll soon be three years old," John told him solemnly, and I've never been drunk in my life before." And then he started giggling helplessly, and Sidney couldn't help but laugh with him, even as he had to hold him more firmly to keep him upright.

Pat came to meet him, and he greeted her with exuberance and a loud kiss. "You're the best wife I could possibly have imagined," he told her. "I used to think how it might be to have a wife and I never thought it could be quite so good!"

Pat smiled, and thanked Sidney. John was still rambling. "I'm not going to get sick any more, ever. Even the buzzing in my head is gone. And I'm nearly three years old, and I've got a beautiful wife and a family and a real home..."

He staggered again, and this time, passed out. Trey licked his face.

He was fine in the morning, though he looked rather timidly at his wife. "Are you going to go crook? You told me that you're not supposed to apparate when you're drunk."

Pat looked at him severely. "Remember it next time." But then she hugged him. "I'm glad you think I'm the best wife."

His high spirits returned, and when Pat went outside next, it was to see him on God Wot?, laughing hard, as God Wot? bucked and reared and plunged, to the transparent joy of the boss.

Margaret and Edward were going riding with him that morning, and when he told them they were not needed, as he was never going to be ill again, they looked at each other, and Edward asked if he didn't like them any more. Of course, he liked them, he assured the pair, it was just that their presence wasn't necessary. Margaret said, "Well, since we're here, and since we_ like_ to ride with you..."

He had to go over to Norm's place afterwards, and inspect the four foals resulting from the mischief of God Wot?. He pointed to the skewbald. "Hang on to that one. He'll be a great horse."

Oliver and Steve returned from school, and went to their customary riding lesson. For a few weeks, Steve's Storm was to stay at their place, so that Victor could ensure they had no problems getting used to each other. John rode Sparks around a little, and then Victor said that Oliver should try her.

"She's so_ smooth_," said Oliver, a smile all over his face. Victor wouldn't let him jump her yet, though he spent a lot of time coaching Steve and Storm over jumps. John leaned against the fence, watching.

"We'll try them both over much higher jumps," said Victor, finally, though the light was beginning to fade. The boys looked nervous, though they raised the jumps to Victor's instructions. Victor took pity on them. "This is just a test to see what talent the horses have, and the boss will ride them."

Victor was only of average height, but a very solid man and heavy, while John was still thin. Victor watched critically as he put first Storm. and then Sparks over the fences. "Very good," he said, and he looked at Steve with a smile. "I think you might have a great little horse!"

It was not even mid November, but John took himself to the loungeroom, said no-one was allowed in, and spent two happy hours using his wand to label and wrap presents, with conjured wrapping paper, piling them afterwards in the corner. There was one for everyone, even a scarlet cape for Clare, who never had worn a cape. Pat regarded the completed pile. "We might have to have an early Christmas tree this year."

John asked, "Can we put the Christmas lights out early, too?"

Pat nodded, smiling. He was like a child in his enthusiasms, but she suddenly remembered what he had said. He was not even three years old. And while last year he'd been with them, the year before, the Christmas dinner offered to him had been tainted with tranquilliser, and the year before that, he'd been still in a coma.

The following day, to the amusement of his staff, he and Pat arranged coloured lights to twinkle around buildings, and in twisted ropes along pathways. They were a coloured blur to him, and he suddenly remembered that he had to try his glasses. There was that book he wanted to read, his own book that was a 'classic.'

But when he tried his glasses, everything went black, and he was found on the floor an hour later, and could not be roused.

***chapter end***


	36. Chapter 36

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belongs to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/__Chapter 15_

The rest of November was very hazy for John. He roused sometimes, but was dazed, confused, not appearing to recognise anyone, though holding tight to Pat's hand when she took his. The day he remained awake for an hour, it seemed he was getting better. Pat sat beside him, and talked about Margaret's wedding arrangements. But he cried out suddenly and jerked in the bed, struggling against the pain he had told himself would never return. The pain went on and on. It was too severe to let him rest, although blackness did give him some relief now and then. It took three days, but suddenly his body relaxed and again he was unconscious.

Pat said to Alison that she was glad she'd agreed that he could have the Christmas lights early. By the end of the week, it was rumoured in the village, that they'd had Christmas early so that poor young Mr. Bellamy could have one last Christmas before he died. Celia, down the road, said it was expected any day now.

He was sleeping a lot and still seemed very confused. Margaret was one of those who took turns sitting with him in the daytime, though Pat just went on sleeping with him at night. She didn't want him to start thinking again that she didn't want him. He slept peacefully at night, but caused concern in the daytime. He told Margaret that he wanted to go to her wedding, but that the aurors might be wanting to arrest him and then he'd have to leave the country.

Margaret assured him that no-one was trying to arrest him, but he pulled himself a bit higher in the bed, and said, quite seriously, "Just remember, if you ever decide to kill somebody, you've got to check for cameras first. Otherwise you get into a lot of trouble." But it was only when he referred to her marriage to Sean that she realised that it was something from the past he was referring to, and not mere imaginings. Margaret didn't mention this conversation even to Pat, as it sounded like the boss had killed somebody once, and she didn't know whether he might still get into trouble if it was known.

Ghosts visited him, but they seemed friendly, and amused him. There were conversations no-one could work out. None of the painful times in the past came to him at this time. Instead, he laughed about Gemme setting fire to a haystack, confided to Pat that he thought that Neville's wife always forgot the anti-conception spell because they'd just had their eleventh child, and moaned to Ron about their Potions homework. Gabrielle was addressed as Julia, and treated to a stern lecture about bullying, but then he laughed and said to someone called Ben that he wasn't allowed to get so drunk next time, as he was too heavy.

Quite suddenly, one day, he woke at the normal time he always woke, felt that it was his own Pat, who slept next to him, and cuddled closer. Pat was delighted when she woke an hour later than normal, and found him already out of bed, showered and shaved, even though he staggered as he re-entered the bedroom. He was fine again, although, as usual, it would take a while to regain his strength. It was the seventh December.

Pat was desperate to know whether he now remembered anything, as, for the past week, it seemed that he did. She didn't ask, and he only said that he could see better all the time, and maybe one day, he'd be able to wear his glasses and see perfectly. And, like always, he apologised for being ill, as if it was his fault - a character failing, and thanked Pat for looking after him. It seemed he only remembered the attack of pain, and even that was blurry. He had no idea that he'd been sick so long.

Bryce had been visiting daily. That day, Pat gave him a broad smile, and said, "Outside, admiring the lights."

He was no longer admiring the lights, but walking next to the sheep paddock, God Wot? following behind him like an enormous dog, two cats behind God Wot?, and both Forster and Trey racing around not far away, playing with the colts and fillies in the clear, frosty air.

John was cooperative, and Bryce took a few readings, told him it was great to see him so much better, and then alarmed and upset him by interrogating him on his returned memory. Pat intervened at the sound of raised voices, and promised John that he wouldn't be pestered further. John was shaking, had turned very pale, and said to Bryce that one thing he'd never understand, why on earth he'd _ever_ allowed him to be his healer in the first place.

Bryce grinned, "I had to fight you for the privilege!"

John stared, "What?"

"Well, you got all stupidly upset just because I mentioned that you were a mutation, and I finally got your cooperation by beating you in a fistfight!"

John stared, then laughed, and wound up by looking at the healer speculatively. "You must be good. Want to do it again one day?"

Brcye shook his head. "I only had a chance because you'd tired yourself working the strong magic three times in a day. You were staggering now and then, even before we started. And _then _you nearly beat me!"

Pat smiled. The way she'd heard it, Bellamy had won. Dieter had told her.

After Bryce left, John asked Pat if he'd really showed indications of remembering things from 'before.' Pat said calmly that he'd been confused for several days, and was referring to events and people that sounded as if they had come from the past. But that they didn't know for sure. John was silent.

Pat hugged him. "Don't worry about it. If it's going to come back, it'll come back without your giving yourself a headache by worrying."

John nodded and stood, his words slurring slightly as he said he just might lie down for a little. Pat watched after him with worry, but when she crept into the bedroom ten minutes later, he was only sleeping.

He regained his strength quickly, although not the surging optimism that had led him to become very drunk with the happiness of being free of the prospect of repeated episodes of pain. Maybe he would always be sickly. But Pat put up with him, so he guessed he should just do the best he could.

Norm Lockwood joined him one morning as he rode on the moors. He was only going quite slowly, a gentle canter. He was accompanied by Oliver riding Sparks, as well as Steve on Storm, neither of whom were totally confident on their new horses.

Lockwood looked at them assessingly. "Nice little horses, the pair of them."

"They're quite new, and the boys are thrilled with them."

"Been sick again, I hear?"

John said defensively, "I'm fine, now. It just takes a few days to get strong again."

Lockwood glanced at his friend. He was far too thin. In the time he'd known him, he always seemed to be either thin or very thin. He asked, "Will you be fit in another week?"

"Of course. It never takes very long."

"The hunt is meeting at my place next Saturday. I thought you might like to ride."

John queried uncertainly, "A hunt?"

"Nat Long is doing the fox, and he always makes a good ride. And hardly anyone refuses us access any more, as the foxes know not to go where they're asked not to."

"So you don't hunt real foxes!"

"Of course not! Father always said that they were too unpredictable in any case, and half the time, you'd just be standing around, freezing to death. Much better with Nat Long."

"And Nat Long doesn't get eaten at the end?"

Lockwood laughed, and suddenly wondered if the wizard was serious. "Of course not! Afterwards, hounds get fed some special treats, the horses get rubbed down and we all go to the pub. And if Nat's done a good job, he won't have to pay for a drink the whole night!"

John was smiling in anticipation as Lockwood continued. "Margaret's riding, and Edward, of course. M'wife's not, she never does. But I will be."

John grinned at him. "I'll be there."

He wasn't working that Monday, though he was to work the following Monday, a full day's work, as Juana and Lucasta Stonehouse had returned to New Zealand, Lucasta with a new husband. John frowned when he heard. Lucasta had felt as if she was as closely related as his own daughters, and now she'd married a Davenport, who was probably descended from him as well. But Pat just reminded him that not all Davenports were his descendants, and in any case, it would be about six generations back.

There were piles of invitations for Christmas functions. Pat flipped quickly through them, and asked whether he wanted to go to any. "You're under not the slightest obligation, of course," she said. "It's not just that you've been sick, but we do what we've always done, send a thank you for the invitation, and don't say whether you'll be there or not. It's a security thing."

John nodded. Lots of things they did or didn't do, were for security. But then she held one up. "You might like to go to Isaac's wedding, though."

"Isaac's getting married?"

"Casey Longbottom. It seems they're in a hurry. It's Friday." Pat passed him a note. "It's a separate note for you. It's marked personal."

John hesitated, then took some glasses from his pocket and read the note, though taking his glasses off straight afterward.

Pat stared.

John looked sheepish. "My sight's improving, but I'm not game to leave them on longer than a few minutes."

"It's what started the last illness, isn't it?"

John nodded, and glanced at the note again, not reading, "He says there'll only be a few there, Casey's immediate family, Bryce, of course, and you and me if we'll come. He says he'd very much like us to be there."

Pat had a quizzical look on her face. "Bit ironic, when you remember what he did to you."

"Mostly, he just watched me. Exactly as Bryce would have done in a similar situation. And even though there was RAB and that other thing, he was actually very good to me whenever I was sick." He smiled at her. "I would like to go."

Pat asked, "What about the other invitations?"

"It's time I stopped hiding. Sort out what you want to go to, and if you want me, I'll come too."

So Pat sorted out the ones she thought suitable for her husband, small events, preferably with those she knew well and thought had the sense not to be tactless. The possibility of sudden collapse had to be taken into consideration, also.

The first was to a small dinner party, Wednesday night, and with this sort of small affair, the hostess was quietly advised of the acceptance beforehand. He'd met Gerard Innes, although not his wife. Their son, his wife, and a baby Innes were also present. And on Wednesday night, Grandfather Harry was introduced to the tiny baby. His perfectly genuine wonder and admiration was the reason the custom had started in the first place. There were no problems, and no-one tactlessly demanded that he remember things they knew were gone. Pat was relieved, and John thought again that he'd been being cowardly.

Friday at breakfast, Norm Lockwood mentioned to his wife that he'd asked Bellamy to go on the hunt with him. Pam's nostrils twitched, and she said, "Well, I _do_ hope he knows how to dress suitably."

Norm glanced at Edward. It was not something he'd considered. Edward raised his eyes from his cereal, and said, "Leave it to me and Marg. We'll fix something."

But it was Norm and Edward who rode over to Bellamy's place, and were admitted to wait in a large entry hall. Neither of them had been inside the house before. It was nicely furnished, with some quite beautiful decorations, and showed no external signs of magic. A portrait of a man with a battered face and an innocent expression was in a place of honour. A cat strolled through an internal door, and sat regarding them suspiciously.

In the bedroom, Pat arranged the deep collar of Bellamy's outer robe, combed out his long hair, though he thought it was already combed, and gave him the nod, just as Louise knocked and said that Lord Lockwood and Edward Lockwood were waiting. Bellamy looked at himself in the mirror, grinned and went to join them.

They stared open mouthed. "Fancy dress?" finally said Lockwood.

"Wedding," explained Bellamy. They were silent, regarding the splendour of a wizard's dress robes, until Bellamy said, "Don't worry, Margaret has already told us what we're to wear for her wedding. We won't appear like this at your place."

Pat joined them, then, and she, too, was looking impressive and quite unfamiliar. Edward looked at his silent father, and said, "Well, anyway, what we came about was tomorrow, the hunt. The Hunt Master puts a lot of importance on correct dress, tradition and all that, you know, so we brought over a few things in case you didn't have any."

Lockwood said, "Don't be offended, but you need a hard hat, proper jodhpurs or breeches, not jeans, and riding boots, not running shoes. And then you should have a neat, black riding coat."

Bellamy smiled at them. "I hadn't given it a thought. And don't worry, I'm not offended. Not supposed to make myself conspicuous in medj company. I'm even riding a different horse."

"They were my clothes," said Edward. "But I'm a bit big for them now, even the boots. No need to return them."

Pat checked her watch. "There's no time to try these now, but we'll buy some if we need to. There'll be time this afternoon."

The small wedding went off well, Isaac very pleased that Bellamy and Pat had come. Isaac worried sometimes about what he'd condoned with 'the John Doe,' but he didn't seem to bear a grudge. Isaac wasn't so sure about Pat. But now he was in wizard robes himself, marrying a witch, and booked into a wizarding resort town for a honeymoon. He wished he could tell Mark all about it, but he'd promised.

Saturday morning, when Margaret and Bellamy presented themselves at the Lockwoods, Pamela had only his unorthodox hair-style to criticise. The boots hadn't fitted, and the breeches had been too short, but he found some riding clothes in a wardrobe, that were only a bit loose. The jacket he found looked new, but was of an old fashioned cut, and not black, but Edward's jacket was all right. He found the hard hat uncomfortable, but when he asked Norm if he had to wear it, Lockwood only grinned at him and said definitely, and asked about the chestnut gelding he rode.

"Brandon," said John. "He was sold, apparently bored at home, so was always straying, and eventually returned as unsatisfactory."

"Oh, yes," said Lockwood. "The unique money back guarantee. But Edward wouldn't dream of returning Heathcliffe."

"Paul says we get hardly any back," said John. "And neither of us would want them to go to unsuitable owners in any case." He patted the chestnut, who took a few dancing steps, arching his neck. "Victor says if he catches me teaching him to buck, I'll be disembowelled. He wants him for Oliver in a few years."

The duke was joined by a few cronies, and John moved off, to be introduced to some friends of Edward's. "We heard you were dying," said one brash young man.

But John just shook his head, and said, smiling, "Not yet." He was at ease. It was a lot simpler being introduced to people to whom he was not known, than to those he had known once. And shortly, he was feeling an uttermost joy as the horses galloped. In spite of endeavours to be inconspicuous, he was noticed. It was the way he rode, apparently sloppy, but his horse was among the best, streaking across paddocks and taking big fences as if they were nothing.

Lockwood was disturbed when a comment was made about his unusual friend. "He's a bloody wizard," said the same young man who'd said that they'd heard he was dying. But it seemed to be only a comment on the way he rode.

He met more people when they socialised afterwards, and it was Margaret who suddenly worried about too many people noticing when he stayed young, while everyone else, aged. But then she saw him turn away suddenly and hold onto the railing of a staircase. She went towards him. Was he about to collapse? He was pale, even sweating. But then he shook his head and seemed perfectly all right again. She met the eyes of Edward, who tended to be very aware of her, and had seen her sudden concern. And, like Pat, she concluded that life and health were uncertain, and that he should be allowed to enjoy himself without worrying about the future.

For the first time, on Monday, twenty-first December, John did a full day's work spell-breaking in London. There were none that were difficult, and he suddenly thought that it could easily become very boring. There was only one English patient, but thirteen from China, fifteen from Japan, and a couple of dozen from other countries. There was to be a break over Christmas, and they would resume in early January.

He was led off afterwards to the auror department, to join in their Christmas party. Kupec grinned at him when he noticed him staggery, but it wasn't alcohol, as Kupec assumed, just another of those times when the buzzing in his head made him dizzy. It no longer frightened him, as he no longer expected the pain to attack, though he knew it could.

The European patients were mostly going to the Kaseys these days, the Italian Ministry for Magic preening themselves on having them. There had only been one small mishap, but Zoe was firmly told that if she cursed anyone else, whether they'd been rude to her or not, she would no longer be employed. Zoe raised her nose imperiously, waved a casual wand and cured her own victim, but then said that she could get a job wherever she pleased, and she wanted a raise. They gave her a raise.

There had been a change, John knew, since his latest illness. Somehow the black hole in his head was no longer like a stone. Sometimes, when he sat in his chair of a morning, and thought, it seemed as if he could see glimpses behind. Just once, he thought he could sense strands of magic encircling his mind, but the subtle feeling vanished again, and the barrier came back more solid than before.

***chapter end***


	37. Chapter 37

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belongs to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/__Chapter 16_

There were a couple more carefully chosen social events that Pat and Bellamy went to, without incident. Word spread that the great wizard was circulating again, and more invitations came flooding in.

The girls came home from school, and now, when he went for a morning ride, he was surrounded with a tribe of children, though never Lesley or Mary, who didn't think much of horses. Susan rode Sirius, claiming pride of place next to her father. "I'm giving Sirius to Margaret as a wedding present," she told her father. "I'm always at school, and afterwards, I'll probably be leaving home, and there won't be much chance to ride in London."

John stared straight ahead. "I wish you didn't have to go to school," he said finally. "I never get a chance to know you."

Susan said in a matter-of-fact tone. "We have to go to school, and next summer holidays, you probably won't waste it by getting sick." She smiled at him. He was looking sad, "And afterwards, even if I do leave home, I'll be able to apparate and come home whenever I want."

He sighed, but said, "It's very special to have a family, I'm very lucky."

Ryan and Ross were on grey ponies, matching and very attractive, but they were left well behind when they galloped, and they looked at Oliver, who rode Sparks, with considerable jealousy. Sparks was fast, as fast as Sherese whom Luke rode, though she was still far too big for the boy.

Later that day, Sidney found Oliver with fists raised, facing both Ryan and Ross, each with wands drawn. The blistering rebuke left both his young sons feeling very small, and their wands were confiscated until their return to school. But Oliver didn't like what he said, either, that they should be ashamed of themselves, threatening a squib who couldn't defend himself! Oliver had had every intention of defending himself. They were both going to be beaten to a pulp!

Oliver spent a lot of time with Victor that day, also a 'squib.' Victor, in the end, sent him to the boss and told him to ask for boxing lessons. But that wasn't a help as, while John agreed to give him some practice, he had an attack of dizziness as he dodged the boy's flying fists, and Oliver connected, to his own consternation, and the boss wound up with a blood nose.

John shook his head as the buzzing in his head receded, and cleaned himself with magic. But Oliver stood erect and declared that it was a barbaric sport, and he wouldn't have anything to do with it any more.

Bellamy grinned at him, and agreed. "Each one of my wives went crook whenever I was tempted into a fight, and they were quite right. It _is_ barbaric, and only a barbarian would find it fun!"

It was only after Oliver went off, that he reflected on what he had said, but he couldn't even see an image of his wives' faces in his memory. Luna was buried in the walled garden, and he went there and touched the stone tablet. It seemed so sad, that no-one alive remembered her.

The following morning was Christmas Eve. Pat woke early, surprised to find her husband already out of the house. She showered and dressed quickly. Snow was falling, and it was very cold. He could still collapse and must not be allowed to lie outside, alone in the cold.

She found him at the Old Horses' Paddocks, just leaning against one of the solid fences, Badham and Cloud snuffling at him. He greeted her, and pointed to the east. It was still half dark, but the sun was beginning to show above the horizon.

"Just a year ago," he said. "It was at dawn, and I found myself here and still didn't know it was home."

Pat said, surprised, "You were here all day?"

"I watched all day, but I didn't recognise anyone or anything. But then, you came."

It was very cold, and even Trey was still inside, but Pat waited with her husband as the sun rose, before saying that he should come in for breakfast.

Two hours later, John wandered again, as he'd wandered, but hiding from people, a year ago. He found Oliver wrapped in a wizard cape, but still shivering, staring at graves in the small cemetery. "The Bournes say they're all going to be aurors," he said, in a casual tone.

John said, "Unlikely. Kupec told me you have to have top marks to be an auror, or some other extraordinary ability to make up, and then you only have to have very good marks."

Oliver said with satisfaction, "I don't think their marks are very good."

John smiled to himself. It must be hard to grow up among wizards, and be different.

Oliver pointed to a grave. "That's Chris Barnes. Mum says he came to work for you when he was just nineteen. And that's Simon Barnes, his son, and Naomi Wiley, his wife, and that's Beau Barnes, Simon's brother, and Sybil, his wife."

It was an honest to God memory, and Bellamy shared it with Oliver. "My second wife, Luna, had just died, and I went walking in London, because it hurt too much, and I didn't know what to do with myself. There was a group of youths, like a street gang, but they weren't bad kids." He smiled to himself. "Anyway, I offered to fight them all, one at a time. I got knocked out in the end, of course, but then they picked me up and looked after me, especially Chris and Pete, his brother. Afterwards, I told them if ever they wanted a job, to come and see us. So they did."

"They were Medj, weren't they?"

John frowned. As suddenly as it had come, the memory of them had gone. But he still knew what he'd remembered, and said, "Medj, yes. Chris was with me all his life, and Peter for several years before he married and left. I never had better friends."

Oliver said, almost timidly. "Does it matter that I've got no magic? I want to work for you, too."

John said, "I'd be honoured," and Oliver smiled, comforted.

In the afternoon, Oliver was taken to Steve's place. He didn't want to join the other young ones who partied in the indoor arena. This time, there was an adult present, as two of the girls, over from Paul's place, were only quite small.

Susan and Marcus, on the other hand, deemed themselves too old for children's parties, and amused themselves in a different way, in a magically warmed haystack.

Christmas Day, and Pat said how wonderful the bedspread was that her husband had bought her, and spread it over the bed, smoothing it lovingly. John was pleased, and Pat was grateful that he never read minds, as he undoubtedly could. But the bedspread really was rather magnificent, and if she re-did the bedroom in dark, panelled wood, it would set it off nicely. And she told herself that subtle florals were really quite insipid, after all.

Old Clare grunted, almost in a surly fashion, as she opened her package and spread out the scarlet cape. But she put it round her shoulders and wore it for the rest of the day. Others of his chosen gifts raised eyebrows, but not one of the recipients gave a hint that they were not overjoyed. Even redheaded Margaret said that the deep pink dressing gown was wonderful, though the sight of it on her, when she looked in the mirror, had her covering her eyes in horror at the clashing colours.

Boxing Day, and Margaret, quite untypically, became terribly nervous. Susan and Gabrielle had their work cut out, keeping her calm and getting her dressed for her wedding. Archie, in unfamiliar tuxedo, waited for her in a large and fancy car, his wedding gift to the couple. Bellamy's place was deserted, but no-one came to disturb the peace, and when Forster raced toward the apparation zone, as usual, it was only in the silly dog's imagination.

The wedding ceremony was a religious one, as befitted the heir to a dukedom, and the lengthy sermon was the same as a far too long speech. But John managed to conceal his hatred of speeches, and behaved very well. Trey had been left behind, but he was seeing so much better now that it didn't matter. Once committed, Margaret's nerves left her, and her parents both became a little emotional as they watched her shining happiness as she promised herself to the nice young man who'd been buzzing around most of the year.

Pam Lockwood was a little teary, too, but part of that was because it wasn't a big society wedding with eight hundred guests, as she'd always planned for her only child.

All the witches and wizards were dressed conventionally, but old Clare, who was Medj, wore her scarlet cape. It didn't matter. Everyone knew that artists were eccentric, and old artists even more so. As soon as word got out that this was Clare de Silva, she had a constant procession of visitors, taking the chair next to her, where she sat in state. She was moderately rude to most, with the odd result that she became a high favourite.

John hadn't taken any bodyguards. He pointed out to Margaret that Peter, Sidney, and Archie were all very competent, and Therese and Katrina had been aurors themselves. Pat had agreed with him this time, as Kupec and Jeremy, for instance, standing always close, would be very conspicuous.

"I'll miss her," he said, as they watched the bride and groom drive off in their new car. "She's such a strong personality."

Pat remarked, "I don't think Pam Lockwood thinks her strong personality such a great thing." But Norm Lockwood was murmuring to his wife, and she replaced her sour expression with a bright, artificial smile, and ordered the musicians to strike up another waltz.

Lesley, in medj dress chosen by Margaret, told her father he had to dance with her. John hesitated, decided that he did, after all, know how to dance, and agreed.

The following day, Susan turned seventeen. She was of age, and Archie took her out to the apparation zone to start to learn the vital skill. She was going to a party of young people in the afternoon, with Marcus, but she had to take an apparation test before she was allowed to apparate, and the skill was not easy to learn.

December twenty-eighth. Pat had debated about this party. But her Henry had always been a sociable creature, and he had to know the people of his world. Like Dieter, she marvelled at how well he remembered names, and understood, even more than Dieter did, how much effort he put into it.

The McRae sisters were well known intellectuals of the wizarding world. Henry Bellamy had also been a well known intellectual of the wizarding world, for over a hundred years, and there would be probably a dozen witches and wizards present, with whom he used to enjoy discussing various esoteric magical phenomena. Was it time to re-open that world for him? She conferred with Dot McRae. His 'epilepsy' had to be made known, and arrangements made to bring him home if necessary. Peter Barnes would go, simply so that he could apparate with Bellamy, even unconscious, if it became necessary.

For a while, the party didn't seem to be a successful choice. John listened attentively to the deep discussions that he'd once loved and often led, but the background was lost, and he could not participate. After a while, he went to the window and looked out on a snow covered Scottish landscape. There was a hill, and children screaming in joyful terror as they tobogganed down it. Quietly, he slipped out, only missed, after a while, by Peter, Pat as deeply involved as the rest of them. Her knowledge of magic was extensive, even though she'd never, herself, even raised a wand.

When Peter tapped her on the shoulder, she was alarmed for a moment, but his grin dispelled her alarm. He took her outside and pointed. Whooping as loudly as any of the children, her husband, the great wizard, hurtled down the snow covered slope on a toboggan, probably conjured by himself, since it was in that red-orange colour that he adored. 'It's the colour of happiness,' he'd told her once.

Dot and Winnie McRae joined her, and laughed. "He may have lost a lot," Dot said, "But he has a lot, too. He's a lucky man."

Pat nodded. No-one else could enjoy themselves as her husband could enjoy himself.

"I'll stay out here, and watch," said Peter. "Just in case."

It was not until the children were gone, two hours later, that John's toboggan carried him back to the grownup party, gliding gently along the level, and even up the mild slope to the house. "Lovely party," he told the McRae sisters, his eyes twinkling as they took their leave. Peter apparated with Pat, as John, although happy to apparate himself, was again experiencing those times when his head buzzed and he became dizzy. He would not take a passenger, except for Trey, who still went with him most places.

On New Year's Eve, again they were out, Susan, Pat, Bellamy, at a party hosted by Louise's parents, Homer Stackpole and Josie, his wife. Kitty was Homer's sister, and she and Sidney were also there. Josie didn't bother about restraint, and gave her old boss a hug the moment they arrived. John had come to like this sort of greeting. He knew where he was when someone hugged him, though he was grateful that Josie didn't cry over him, as some people he met, did.

The party was going well, and John only paused a few minutes as the familiar buzzing in his head came and went. Over the next hour, it happened again, and then twice more, and with less time between. It was probably nothing, but he murmured to Pat that he'd like to go home, now. Pat didn't waste time, apologising for their early departure, and rising to leave immediately.

John stood also, and tried to disguise his dizziness by holding hard to a chair, so that he wouldn't stagger. The panic rose in him. He wanted to hide. He didn't want to be seen. He must not apparate, not like this, but how he wished he could hide. But then he was on the floor, crying out with agony and throwing himself about, uselessly fighting the agonising pain, as people stared in horror.

After a little, he was able to lie still, and just endure.

Pat spoke to Josie, who pointed to a bedroom, and Homer gently picked him up and settled him on the bed. Pat crossed her fingers, but he didn't start fitting, and she very gently put a blanket over him. Homer made a silencing shield, and lowered the light. Pat apologised to Josie, and said that he'd probably be all right in a while. "He'll be mortified," she said. "He hates people seeing him like that."

Homer said, "It was the Cha Keeyo Curse, and he came back. It could not be expected that he would be as good as new."

John lay still, and endured. There was nothing else to do. It was not quite two hours, and he fainted. Pat, checking on him every few minutes, took a deep breath of relief.

Louise's sister, Carrie, plus a few other younger guests, had almost forgotten that a sick man lay in a guest room. Instead, as the clock struck in the new year, and balloons were released, both Louise and Carrie were soundly kissed by a pair of nephews of Josie, two lanky, redheaded Weasleys.

I'll take him home," said Homer.

Pat nodded. She knew Homer well. He was an auror, and had been a bodyguard as well. He'd even suffered for it once, when three aurors and Bellamy had been poisoned. That was when Kupec's father had been killed, though she doubted anyone had reminded him of that. But they waited until everyone else was gone before Homer picked him up.

John woke in his own bed, and, as Pat had known, felt very deeply mortified. The pain was gone and he felt quite normal, except rather shaky, as he always did after an attack. He slipped from the bed and showered. Pat was sound asleep.

He dressed, just a pair of jeans and a jumper, remembered shoes, and threw a cape over his shoulders.

Trey whined at him as he stepped outside the house into the bitterly cold night, but he only told the dog that he needn't come. Trey followed him anyway, and, unusually, so did Wilma. He wasn't surprised that Forster also followed. That dog wouldn't have the sense to stay in the warm. He only wanted to feel the night, and enjoy the way the Christmas lights sparkled. Except that there were Christmas lights where there shouldn't have been, and he followed them, fascinated. The lone, sick man, staggering sometimes, even after he conjured himself a cane. There were Christmas lights on the fence, no, through the fence, and he found one of the stiles over a gate and climbed over, though both Trey and Wilma barked at him. Wilma had trouble pulling herself over the stile, and Forster was clumsy, and wound up with his snout covered in snow.

Sidney was patrolling, but the dogs sounded no alarm and he wasn't seen.

Pat stirred and put out a hand to check that Henry was all right. With sudden alarm, she sat up in bed. She looked for him, in the bathroom, the loungeroom, the library. She was nearly running now, looking desperately through the house, leaving lights on everywhere she went. Breathlessly, she checked the swimming pool, scanning the depths, frightened that he'd gone swimming and drowned, and then the spa, scarcely used now, except by Archie and Ursula, sometimes. Pat gave up and rang the alarm. He was somewhere outside in the freezing night, and must be found.

Meantime, John went on and on, staggering sometimes, not querying why the Christmas lights that danced in front of him should be so clear, even though it was snowing. It was still firm underfoot, the snow not yet deep.

After a long time, the Christmas lights went out for him, and he looked around. He was in a thick grove of trees, and trees were his friends. He curled up under the nearest tree and went to sleep. Forster sniffed at him, then pointed his muzzle to the sky and howled. It was dawn. Dawn came late in the middle of winter. Wilma snuggled down next to him, and so did Trey. Forster went on howling, crying his misery to the new day.

The property was searched again and again, but the snow wiped out all footprints and turned everything white. They searched further, taking horses and dogs, now going off the property. Paul Pickering, his household and his staff, added their manpower. Pat started making phone calls, the tiny village hospital, people they knew, still reluctant to ask for the help of medj police.

Forster's howls gradually penetrated the sleep of the woman who lived close. She was irritable, not wanting to wake yet, not after the late night party. But there's something very unrestful about the cries of a miserable dog, and she finally rose, grumbling, and went to have a look. Maybe the poor thing was trapped, somehow.

Forster's howling turned to excited barking when she approached, his whole rump wagging with his tail as he dashed to her, and dashed back to the body in the snow. Trey rose to his feet and barked too. Poor Wilma had died, just a few minutes before. Joanne Boag was sure the snow covered man was dead, but raised the head from the snow, where it lay. She held her hand over his mouth, and could feel no breath, she tried to find a pulse in his wrist, and then his neck, and could feel nothing. She didn't hurry as she trudged back to her home to report that there was a dead man on her land.

Ursula, at home, waited, and watched the RAB. He was still alive, but he must be outside somewhere in the cold as he was only barely alive. There were more searchers now, searching very thoroughly, methodically crossing the property, only a few yards apart, Lockwood's people, Paul's people, and several aurors, all those whom Pat had been able to contact and knew how to find the property. Even now, she was reluctant to sacrifice the secrecy of the place.

Bryce waited with Pat, and together, they went over the house again, very thoroughly. Bryce knew a spell that revealed where there might be secret rooms, and he found a secret bedroom and a secret portion of the library, and then another room that Pat had never seen. A boy's treasures, and very large posters of Bellamy from a long time before. "It could have been Adrian's," Pat said doubtfully. But Bellamy was nowhere to be found.

"I wish we had the RAB 2," said Bryce, "We'd find him straightaway."

Pat looked sadly at him. Even now, she thought, he didn't seem to have the slightest feeling that placing a location device actually within the body of his subject, was unethical.

Dead bodies were not supposed to be disturbed, and Joanne only went back and looked again. She didn't move the dead dog, and the weight and remaining warmth of Wilma helped keep John alive. Police and ambulance arrived together, and the ambulance men, too, thought that the snow covered man was dead. Police unhurriedly took some photographs, and then, finally, Bellamy was lifted from the snow.

"No identification," said a policeman, checking his pockets. An ambulance man again put a stethoscope inside the jumper, to try and find a heartbeat.

"He just might be alive," he said very doubtfully. But they hurried then. If he was alive, there was no time to be lost.

Even the doctor was unsure at first whether John was alive or dead. They'd let the dogs come, Trey and Forster, and they'd been fed and warmed, and petted, though Wilma had been left to lie.

Two hours later, the nurse was asked how the John Doe was doing. But the John Doe frowned, and said, "I'm_ not_ John Doe. My name is Henry Bellamy."

She shook him, trying to wake him properly, but it seemed he'd said all he was going to say.

A few hours later, he touched his own cheek, and an alarm rose in him. He must_ not_, and he whimpered in sudden fear. Trey jumped on the bed, lay down beside him, and he caressed his dog and settled down. The elderly doctor prescribed the best treatment possible in that small village hospital. No drips, no injections, no restraints, just warmth and his surviving dogs, who had saved his life.

At home, they still didn't know where he was, but they knew he was no longer in danger.

When he opened his eyes, finally, as night fell again, his nurse noticed and came to him. He was the only patient, which worried him for a moment, but his nurse just said 'Hello,' told him where he was, and asked if there was someone she could contact for him. "My name's Rebecca," she said. The very name was a reassurance, and he gave the phone number of his home without hesitation.

He was curled up again, asleep, when Pat and Bryce entered the room. Forster barked loudly, raced to Pat, and then back to Bellamy's bed, as if to show off his achievement. Bellamy had a hand on the back of Trey, and Pat regarded him. "It looks like I've been replaced by a dog," she said.

John opened his eyes and smiled at her. "I followed the Christmas lights," he said.

Pat looked at him with exasperation. "It seems you followed them twenty-five miles!"

They'd brought the panel van, Bryce showed an identification which persuaded Rebecca to release the patient into their custody, and Bryce steered him in the direction of the door. He balked suddenly. "Where's Wilma?" he asked. "Wilma was with me, too."

Pat looked questioningly at Rebecca. "There was another dog," she said. "But it was dead."

"Wilma's dead?" asked John, plaintively.

"The three dogs saved your life," said Rebecca. "They stayed close and kept you warm as best they could, and then the Dalmatian howled until someone came to investigate. But the one on your chest, she was dead."

John took a long, shuddering breath. "I've messed up badly, haven't I?"

Pat said, "We'll pick her up and bring her home, too. She should be buried with the other special pets."

John was normal again, and deeply ashamed of himself. There had been so many searching, so many worried, and his old dog died for him.

Pat's heart bled for him. She tried to tell him it was not his fault, that he was sick. But he seemed to think he hadn't been sick when he'd followed imaginary lights for miles, his three dogs at his heels.

"I'm too much trouble," he told Pat. "I should just go away."

Pat hugged him and tried to reassure him, but he was convinced that she couldn't possibly want a sickly invalid, who couldn't even see. His sight was gone again, and somehow, the brief interval when he'd been able to see more independently seemed to have interfered with his other way of seeing. It didn't take long, but for a few days, he was nearly blind, no matter whether a dog walked at his heels, or whether he was surrounded by people. He still could 'see' people, but it was only a knowing of who was there, and where they stood.

It was Mary who ensured that he wouldn't leave home, in order to save them trouble. She firmly took him by the hand, and took him to Alison's office. Alison would not be back from the Christmas break for another couple of days, but Mary knew where they were filed, all the thank you letters that he never looked at. But she told him he had to sit, and he had to listen, and for an hour, she read them to him, one after another. The people whose lives he had changed, who were hardly ever allowed to linger long enough to thank him in person, because it wasted time and made him uncomfortable. They were always told to write a letter if they wanted to thank him, and many of them did.

And then she told him, very clearly, that it was not just because he could help people, but because he was loved and needed, by his family, and by his friends. He was _not_ too much trouble. She hugged him, and said, "You came back to us. Don't ever, _ever _think of going away.

Humbly, he said, "I'm sorry, Mary. I won't go away if you don't want me to."

There was laughter in the village pub, when word spread. Young Mr. Bellamy had become very drunk, New Year's Eve, wandered off and passed out in the snow. Rescued just in time. One said, "You can't blame him, when he knows he hasn't much time to live."

Another said, "Celia told me he's in remission, but it's inevitable, of course." They were quiet, and then someone said they should drink to poor young Mr. Bellamy. There were more drinks then, more laughter, more gossip, but, although a few became drunk, no-one else was foolish enough to go to sleep in the snow.

Susan, Lesley and Mary had to go back to school. Pat had an arm around her husband, as they piled into the bus that Sidney was driving, the boss's three girls, Sidney's boys, and there were some to be picked up from next door, as well. Tentatively, he said to Pat, "Mary said I wasn't too much trouble, that I should stay."

It troubled Pat that he still needed the reassurance, but she gave him what he needed, and then said that they should have a spa together, that a spa was very relaxing. There was an alarm she could press now, and Peter and Archie would be there in an instant. But the lockable door would, most certainly, not be locked.

Twice, an attack of pain had been followed by an interval of confusion, but the second time, it hadn't lasted a long time. They didn't lock the front door, Pat said that he must not feel confined in any way, but an alarm was put on it that would ring in the bedroom, so that he wouldn't slip out of the house again without waking Pat. He knew it was there, and said nothing, shamed, and knowing it was justified.

Gabrielle found John a couple of days later, straight after his morning ride. He was to go to see Clare. The old lady wanted him. There was a well made path to Clare's little house, routinely cleared of snow or puddles every morning, and with a railing leading right along it. There were other paths, too, wherever an elderly person might like to walk. Clare was nearly ninety, but she was not the first to live out a long life at Bellamy's place.

Clare was wearing her scarlet cape again. She was rarely seen out of it, and when Gabrielle asked why she'd never worn one before, she just said that no-one had ever given her one before. But now she looked at John severely, told him that she was no longer as fit as she was, and she needed a bigger studio, because it was too hard these days to paint outdoors as she'd always preferred.

"Whatever you want," said John.

She pointed to an unoccupied house not far away. "It's where Beau and Sybil used to live, and I want it done straightaway. It doesn't matter if things are conjured, as your conjures will last longer than I will!"

John asked, "How long do conjures last?"

Clare hesitated, and Gabrielle answered. "Furniture mostly a few months, clothing seldom more than a few hours, things like blankets likewise, but, of course, you're different, and Pat told me that your conjures last at least seventy years."

There were walls to be removed, and Gabby held him up, insisting that Archie be consulted, as she didn't want the house falling down. But once Archie had his say, John had a wonderful time, removing walls, conjuring furniture to Clare's specifications, and, on Gabby's suggestion, turning two adjoining bedrooms into a show-room for paintings for sale.

"I can sell them for you then, Clare, and you won't be pestered by people wanting to buy paintings when you're doing something else," said Gabby.

Clare grunted, "Good." and declared, "I'm not doing London exhibitions any more, far too much trouble."

Gabby said peaceably, "Well, if you wind up with too many paintings, I can always do it for you."

"I've got a list. I need more supplies. I want all new things for here." She looked around in satisfaction.

"Decoration?" asked John. "It needs a bit of colour."

Gabby looked at Clare. Clare said, "It all has to be light beige, because the walls and furnishings can't be distracting." She looked at his disappointed face. "You can make the kitchen bright red, though, if you want."

John grinned. "I do _know_ that other colours exist." The kitchen wasn't all bright red - it became deep violet and intense blue, to Gabby's amusement, though Clare only laughed.

"Now!" said Clare. "I want Gabby to go away, because I'm talking to the boss."

Obediently, Gabby went away, and John sat in the chair Clare pointed at. He became uncomfortable, as, for a moment, old Clare just studied him.

Abruptly, she said, "You made an awful fool of yourself the other night. Messed up bad!"

John nodded, feeling a relief. He had messed up very badly, and still felt guilty, but everyone just said that it was all right and it was not his fault.

Clare continued. "They woke me up to search the house, and a lot of the searchers were tired from New Year's Eve parties, and some had hangovers, even."

John nodded. They'd gone to so much trouble and he wasn't worth it.

"Killed the dog you loved," announced Clare.

John nodded again.

"Come back to my house," said Clare. "I'm making you some coffee." There was a brand new, dry, soft tan path from the new studio/show-room to Clare's home. Archie and Peter were conferring on exactly how to make a railing that would lead along its edge, and where openings were needed. Clare looked at them, and grunted.

She set coffee in front of him, and then a plate of scones. "Louise brought them over this morning," she said.

John accepted one, and piled jam and cream on it. "She's a great cook, young Louise," he said.

Clare said, "Has it ever occurred to you that I've lived here nearly all my life? Yet I'm not related, I've never worked for you, and neither did my husband. Caradoc and I pay a sum towards our upkeep, but I doubt if you know, or if you would ever have asked for a contribution."

"I like you here. You're a part of home."

"I'm a lot of trouble. You renovated a house for me this morning, and didn't even think twice. Gabby, or someone else, brings over meals if I don't want to go to the dining room, and there's always someone to help me carry equipment, or do anything else I want. Gabby cleans my house for me."

John was waiting, unsure what she was getting at.

Clare looked into his face, and spoke very firmly. "I'm a lot of trouble, but it's like I'm family, and no-one begrudges it. These days, because you're sick quite often, and foolish sometimes, _you're_ a lot of trouble. Do you really think you're not worth it? Do you really think _anyone_ thinks you're not worth it?"

John said hesitantly, "I don't know." He looked down. "They say it's a miracle, that it's like nothing happened. Sometimes, people treat me with respect, and they refer to me as the great wizard. It makes me feel like a fraud. There's a big hole in my head, and while I'm not mindless, like I was supposed to be, I don't think I'll ever be the way I was." He looked up at her. "You're the first one who's acknowledged how stupid I was that night. I don't think I was sick then. I just followed the lights I saw, and never thought of doing anything else. It was irresponsible, and caused everyone worry. I don't know why Pat puts up with me when I'm a shell."

Clare smiled at him. "You're our Bellamy, and we want you."

But John still looked unhappy. "Even that. I've got used to being called Bellamy, but in my own mind, I'm just John, the prisoner, though now free. In a way, it was easier being a prisoner, because I had no responsibilities. If I felt like destroying cameras, or being stupid enough to get shot, I just did. Even now, in my own mind, I've lived almost twice as long as a prisoner, than I have here."

"You're right. people don't quite realise. Not that there's much point in reminding them. If they want to give you respect you think you don't deserve, I wouldn't knock it back! There's lots of us never get respected. Count yourself lucky!"

John laughed. Of course he should count himself lucky. And it was odd, but because Clare acknowledged that he'd been stupid, and maybe too because he'd spoken more openly about how he felt, it was like there was a weight off his mind. He'd been involved with Clare too long, and missed lunch, but only turned up in the kitchen, and Kitty provided him with a lunch. Maybe he was a lot of trouble, and maybe he didn't deserve it. But Clare said it was all right.

_**x**_

Oliver went to his father, who thought, and spoke to Victor, then to Pat and the boss. Oliver's point was a good one. The Bourne boys all had Defence Practise. They practised spells to defeat an opponent, to disable an opponent, and to tie him up. He was the same age, and he should be taught to use a rifle, as Pat and Victor could.

Pat's first thought was of some horror - a twelve year old boy taught to use weapons that could be lethal? But she lived among wizardry now, and from the age of eleven, their children were given wands and taught to use them. Magic could be lethal. Oliver was a serious and responsible boy. She and Victor would teach Oliver to use firearms. And just as the Bournes had their wands when they rode with Bellamy, maybe Oliver should be allowed to wear a handgun, as she did herself, made light and inconspicuous by magic.

Oliver's Defence Lessons started the following day, using the indoor arena. There was a silencing shield around, and it was out of sight of stray visitors. As soon as he was competent, he could start to wear a handgun. Steve didn't know anything about it. There was a large part of Oliver's life that Steve, the medj, could not share.

John could see reasonably again, and regularly joined Steve and Oliver when they had their riding lessons with Victor. Snow was quite deep, but a jumping course was set up in the indoor arena. The boys were practising on Storm, on Sparks, and on Maguire, amicably taking turns on the palomino, who, as Marcus had said, was expert at the novelty events.

***chapter end***


	38. Chapter 38

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belongs to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/__Chapter 17__:_

Victor was more and more pleased with the performance over jumps of both Storm and Sparks. Nearly every time, Victor would set the jumps much higher, and John would give the horses some practice with the more demanding obstacles. His head buzzed now and then, but he tried to hide the sinister sign, only once betraying himself by falling off Storm.

Monday, 11th January, he was back at the Ministry, doing a full list of patients. There were more home-grown patients. "New Year's Eve casualties," remarked Bryce. "The same every year." Again, John thought that it seemed a bit boring, but reminded himself that ordinary magic no longer brought a penalty of pain. He'd come a long way in a year.

Alison was back from the Christmas break, turning up for work regularly every morning. She was showing her pregnancy now, and was making preparations. She didn't want to work too hard after her baby arrived, and was reorganising some of Bellamy's investments and preparing some essential paperwork early. Ursula helped by doing the correspondence.

John was no longer attempting to use glasses, even for very short intervals. His independent eyesight was too poor again even to warrant the attempt.

"There's an agricultural show at the end of the month," Alison remarked to the boss. "Cec is showing some sheep."

Ursula put another letter in a pile, and said, "I heard Oliver begging Victor to let him and Steve take their new horses."

John looked up, interested. He enjoyed shows, but he mustn't be irresponsible.

Ursula showed a letter to Alison. "Do we get many of these?"

Alison laughed, "Now and then. It runs in fashions. There's a form letter."

"What is it?" asked John curiously. The women looked at each other, and then Ursula said, "Do you want me to read it to you?"

John nodded.

Ursula put on a mock solemn voice. "My name is Cecily, and I'm sixteen. I'm blonde, and my friends all say I'm pretty. I'm sorry, but I get pimples sometimes, but Jenny says you probably won't mind that." John was looking puzzled. "I think you're so wonderful, and really goodlooking as well, though they say you've got a lot of scars on your body, but I don't mind that. Lots of boys would like to be my boyfriend, but I've saved myself for you. I want you to be my first lover, and Jenny says that all men like young girls, so you'll probably say yes." Ursula glanced at the boss, who'd turned scarlet. "She winds up by suggesting a time and date."

John opened and closed his mouth a few times, and then started to laugh, helplessly. Eventually, tears in his eyes, he choked out, "Does she know I'm married?"

Alison was laughing, too. It was so good to see the boss laugh like that. She shook her head. "These girls, they never seem to give it a thought!"

John said, "So how do you answer?"

Alison went to a drawer, and read out a courteous reply that thanked the girl for the offer, pointed out that he was a married man, and said that he wasn't interested in young girls in any case.

John nodded and rose to leave. "Well, that's about right for now," he said casually. "If I decide to take one up on the offer, I'll let you know."

He strolled out, leaving Ursula and Alison looking at each other. "Do you think he was serious?" finally asked Ursula.

Alison shook her head. "He wouldn't," but she looked doubtful.

John was pleased with himself. He seldom managed to take his staff off balance like that.

Silly Cecily's offer was something to think about. He was so famous in the wizarding world, and he found it difficult to comprehend that a young girl would think to make such an offer for no other reason than his fame. He chuckled. He had lots of scars, but she didn't mind. He told Pat, laughing again over the letter. Pat knew it happened now and then. As Alison said, it seemed to be a fashion sometimes. But she laughed with him, as if she'd never heard of such a thing.

In Italy, Najia did a fair number of patients, and Zoe could do nearly all that she failed, either with her greater power or using the telepathic cure. But after she was nearly strangled, she simply referred any like that to Bellamy, who did it so much better than she did. They were coping with the European demand, all but those few.

John was curing around fifty patients a week now, almost all without effort. Most were from Asia, some from Arabia, quite a few from America, and an occasional one from Southern Africa or Australasia. His fame was world wide.

Since New Year's Eve, he was no longer interested in socialising. "I'm being a coward again," he told Pat, perfectly honestly. If only he could hold onto some dignity when the pain struck, but it seemed he could not. He didn't want so many people to see him like that ever again.

Pat understood, but wasn't sure that she agreed. Her husband should not make himself a recluse.

John didn't say that he was going to the agricultural show, he didn't even _ask_ whether he could go, but Pat knew he wanted to. Except for work, he hadn't even been off the property since New Year's Eve. He thought he was being responsible, trying not to make work for everyone.

Victor consulted Pat, and Pat consulted Paul. Paul said it was time they showed a few of their Andalusians in any case, and appearing at a show was often an easy way of making a sale. Pat notified Dieter of their plans. He should know, and maybe he'd think it appropriate to provide a bodyguard or two, who could apparate home with him, if needed. Better than having to take the panel van out seventy miles if it wasn't needed.

Shane and Kay Barton were discernibly hesitant when it was suggested that Bellamy go in their car, though they felt guilty about it. Bellamy and his household had done so much for Steve, but the last time he'd been too obviously sickly, and they knew he could collapse without warning. So it was decided that Bellamy would go with Victor, and Steve and Oliver would go with the Bartons.

When it was all decided, Pat told him that Victor wanted him at the show to help with the three horses they were taking, and to help look after the boys. John looked at her, and then hugged her and thanked her. They took so much trouble for him.

Pat smiled. She hadn't fooled him for a moment.

The day was fine, Sparks and Maguire were loaded into the horsebox, John climbed into the front seat next to Victor, and Trey leapt up as well. Oliver rode in the back for the short trip to Steve's place, and then Storm joined the other horses in the large horsebox, while Oliver and Steve laughed and chattered excitedly. They each had schedules in their hands, and planned to enter almost everything they were eligible for, though Victor warned Steve not to expect the judges to award show prizes to Storm. "Great horse, but they can't see past their noses, sometimes."

Everyone was busy, even Paul, who had Marcus and two employees with him, to show the four two-year-olds he'd brought. There were always enquiries, and before they'd been there an hour, he was bargaining a price for one of the fillies, though the actual change of hands would take place the following week.

But Cec and Alison came to collect the boss, and stayed with him as they walked and explored. He admired Cec's sheep, some of them already with broad ribbons draped over the sides of their pens, and said hello to Bob Barton, who was also showing sheep. After doing the circuit, they watched from the side of the arena for a while, as the carefully coached boys cantered around in a show class. The horse that Kay called Thowra and had wanted to buy, was there, and was awarded the win, although Sparks came second. Storm was nowhere.

John was happy, his eyes sparkling, ready to laugh and joke. He spent money on novelty toys that were quite useless, and fairy floss, even managing to persuade Alison to have some too. Cec refused, although enjoying the delight of poor young Mr. Bellamy, who wasn't long for this world. His wife said that was nonsense, but that was only because she doted on her boss.

John looked longingly at some of the rides, but had the sense not to go on any. How would it be if he collapsed in the middle of a ride on the Jumping Jellybean?

Returning to the horsebox, John found some considerable confusion, as the boys tried to go into events in two different areas, on different horses, and scheduled at the same time. But even so, Maguire won a bending race, an apple-in-bucket race, and other novelty events, with Oliver and Steve alternating, each very happy to take credit for being the passenger. Maguire was beginning to carry a lot of ribbons on his browband, and looked very pleased with himself.

Neither of the boys were placed in best rider events, but they were both very hopeful when it came to the junior showjumping. This was what they'd been practising for hardest, and John and Victor made sure to watch. Victor pointed, and John saw because he saw. It was that horse that Kay called Thowra. He wore another rosette now, another step toward a Championship in the showing.

"We'll see how he does in the showjumping against our Storm," remarked Victor, with satisfaction.

"He's not a bad horse, and the jumps are very low," said John. "I think it mostly depends on the rider, this time."

"Pity _you_ won't ride." He glanced at the boss's puzzled face. "You've always said it's not quite fair for older witches and wizards to compete on equal terms with medj, though there's no magic involved in riding a horse. That's why the Bournes gave it up, and Susan, too."

John nodded. That made sense, and he said, "It would be a temptation, I think, just to make sure that a teetering pole doesn't quite fall, or maybe, that an opposing horse starts to buck instead of behaving itself. Better not to compete."

Victor nodded. He'd said it before, in almost the same words, though, of course he wouldn't remember. He glanced at the boss. Mostly, it was like nothing had happened. But then he said or did something that made you remember that it had.

"Sparks is up next," Victor said, and they watched as the solemn boy on his glossy black mare, jumped neatly around the course without an error. "I was telling him about his grandfather," said Victor. "Simon Barnes, who won a Bronze once at the Olympics."

John pretended he'd known. Victor wasn't fooled.

"There was Connor Maguire, a friend of Adrian's, too. He was also on one of your horses, I heard, and he won gold the same year."

John remarked with satisfaction, "They're good horses."

"Here comes Storm!" Storm was obviously excited and jumped unnecessarily high over each obstacle, making it difficult for Steve to stay on. But his round, too, was clear. There was a succession then, of refusals, runouts, and jumps knocked flying. The palomino jumped as neat a clear round as Sparks.

Victor nodded in spite of himself. "The girl's a good little rider."

Five in the jumpoff, and the jumps were raised. Victor frowned. "They're putting them up rather high for this age group."

Shane and Kay Barton joined them. "He's doing so well!" exclaimed Kay. "To think that he'd never sat on a horse until a few months ago!"

Victor said, "Did you notice the palomino you wanted to buy?"

Kay said, "He won a show class."

"So he did."

Sparks was ridden in, her ears flicking back and forth, curvetting a little when Oliver asked her to trot. Neatly, carefully, the little mare took the course. Oliver gave a broad smile of triumph, but missed going through the Finish, and his disqualification was loudly announced over the loudspeaker. Victor swore, and then apologised. Kay asked, frowning, "What did he do wrong?" Victor explained, which was an illumination to John, as well.

The next rider knocked over two jumps, and then Steve rode in on Storm again. Storm was prancing, still very excited. He jumped higher than ever, taking the obstacles with feet to spare, and nearly hurtling Steve out of the saddle each time. But he was clear, Steve was still on top, and steered his excited mount through the Finish without incident.

'Thowra' followed, but knocked over a fence. The last horse thought the jump was too high, refused three times, and his rider looked furious.

Steve was first, on Storm, beating 'Thowra' into second. Steve's freckled face didn't seem quite big enough for his grin as he accepted a trophy cup.

Oliver was pleased for him, although he looked rather apprehensively at Victor. But Victor just clapped him on the shoulder, and said that everyone did it at least once. Oliver breathed a sigh of relief, and said eagerly, "She was great, though, wasn't she? She felt like she could just go on forever, not leaping the moon, like Storm, just popping over them, as high as needed."

The triumph and excited talk was such that John's silence as he paled and gripped the fence, went unnoticed by his companions. He had a trembling attack afterward, but he'd always done that now and then, and only the Bartons took any notice.

An inconspicuous auror, hovering not far away, noticed, and John suddenly looked straight back at him, and then around, spotting a second one. But it had taken half the day, and when Dieter looked at the report on Monday, he reflected that even now, Bellamy would be almost helpless against a determined assassination attempt. He was still having dizzy spells, too, though, to his knowledge, there'd been no attacks of pain since New Year's Eve.

Steve was happy enough that he declined the use of Maguire for the last few events. These were open events, and Oliver was against some determined and experienced riders. Maguire was feeling his age a touch, and after barely winning another bending race, he was drooping his head, and Victor said, No more.

Oliver petted the game little horse, and apologised for making him too tired. It reminded Victor, and he wondered how the boss was going. But John was deep in conversation with one of Paul's employees, sitting on the back of the Pickering's horsebox, and casually swinging his feet, not having noticed that he was sitting in some not quite dry horse dung. Sometimes, his poor sight got him into trouble.

A successful day, and when Victor was approached by the owner of the palomino, who wanted to buy Storm, Victor found it hard to hide his satisfaction. He had to refer the man to the Bartons, unfortunately, as he didn't have the right to reject the offer himself, but took a considerable pleasure in saying that the sweet little yellow horse had done quite nicely in the showing...

Paul went home with two horses instead of four, a Championship ribbon, as well as a Cup, several other awards, and appointments with two more prospective purchasers. It had been a good day, and he checked the dates of future district shows. He hadn't missed the enjoyment of the boys, or of the boss, either. And he grinned as he remembered having to take the boss out of sight before using his wand to clean his seat.

***chapter end***


	39. Chapter 39

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belongs to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/__Chapter 18_

February. The snow was gone, and rainy days followed each other endlessly. Most years, Pat and Bellamy might have taken a holiday in a warmer climate, but Pat preferred her husband at home while his health was so uncertain. Quite suddenly, his sight improved, and Pat found him one day wandering in his workshop, peering at old inventions. He'd been there a half hour, and he seldom went longer without someone coming to find him. He greeted her, unsurprised to find her looking for him. He had something down from a shelf, an attractive silver device. He was setting it up, tilting his head to the side, and working more by feel than by sight.

She just sat quietly watching. He could see more clearly now, and finished quickly. But then he waved his wand, setting moving parts into motion, and waiting to see what it would do. It looked very busy, very important, and very attractive. She finally explained. "It does nothing at all, just looks important on a desktop. You told me it was all the rage once, though I've never seen one, myself."

"I wonder how long ago. It _is_ rather cute."

Pat smiled. "Ask Alison. Maybe it's time to launch a new craze."

John grinned. "Well, if I can't see well enough to make anything new, maybe I can rehash the old."

Alison was all in favour of re-launching the invention, but asked him what it was called.

John squinted at it, and finally said, "No idea." But then he smiled. "I remember what I wanted to call it, but it would have been a bit rude. I had someone in mind when I made it. Professor Stoner looked very impressive, very important, and was totally useless. I wanted to call it 'The Stoner Device.' Stoner's long dead, I suppose, so I think we could call it that now."

Pat said slowly, "You _remember?_"

John looked nervous. "It happens now and then, but it's only odd memories, nothing to get excited about!"

But Pat was exchanging gleeful looks with Alison, even though she said casually, "Well, that's good. We'll market it as the Stoner Device."

The Monday spell-breaking sessions were changed to Wednesdays, thought to be more convenient for the patients. The first week that John worked a Wednesday, he tackled a few patients referred from Zoe. Two he cured using a higher level of magic than normal, just that felt as an uncomfortable tingle in the air. The third necessitated the telepathic cure. Kupec was on leave, and the auror on duty in the workroom was Michael Bruce, whom he hadn't worked with before.

John was worrying a little, not about the cure, but about having too many times when he felt that horrible feeling in his head. He didn't tell Bryce, and did his best to conceal his occasional dizziness. He remembered to warn the patient, but failed to warn Michael, failed to get in extra aurors, and failed even to have the wizard's wand confiscated.

The wizard was lightning fast and wrapped a strong arm around John's neck and started strangling. Trey hurled himself at him, and Michael and Bryce both yelled and drew their wands. The wizard drew his own wand, threatening them, as he still squeezed, ignoring the dog savaging his leg, his mind set on killing the one who'd tried to interfere in his head.

John was barely struggling as his head buzzed more than ever. His body shielded the wizard, but Michael ran to the side, opening the field for Bryce. Bryce, with a clear aim, still managed to stun Bellamy instead of his attacker, but the sudden limpness of the body he held distracted the wizard, and Michael finally managed to hit him. The patient would be another for the strong magic if the formerly great wizard ever recovered enough to use it.

Meantime, Bryce spluttered that he was sorry, and waved a wand to revive the friend he'd just stunned. John was abruptly coughing, trying to get air back into emptied lungs. Bryce raised his wand again, but before he could ease the breathing with a spell, John started into a fit.

The fallen wizard was taken away, and Dieter appeared, watching, as the fit went on and on. Trey whimpered, thoroughly upset.

Bryce tried to soothe the dog, and said, not at all calmly, that there was nothing to do but wait. He should have known. He'd seen the telepathic cure done many times. If Bellamy forgot, then it had been up to him to call for extra aurors.

Dieter suddenly wheeled on Michael, and asked what on earth he thought he'd been doing, letting an unarmed man get to Bellamy. The _dog _had defended him better. Michael stood expressionless, accepting the rebuke. They had Bellamy ill, but it had been bound to happen eventually, and there was a room with a bed, already prepared.

In the waiting room, Jilla was trying to explain to a contingent of thirty Chinese wizards, most with the Snail Curse, that Bellamy had been taken ill, and there would be no more spell-breaking done that day. They left the building - very, very slowly.

The seizure finally eased off, and Bryce crossed his fingers that there would be no more damage. A lengthy seizure was very bad for a person.

Pat was informed that her husband would be returned as soon as possible, and Bellamy was picked up and put on the bed in the nearby room. For ten minutes, he lay inert, and then started thrashing around, half screaming in his pain.

Bryce waited. He'd expected this. Bellamy was vulnerable, and Bryce had seen a moment earlier when he'd paused and held his wand a little tighter, as if that might help him keep his balance.

John became quiet, but one glance at his face showed that he was awake and suffering. Bryce had his own RAB 3 now, courtesy of a duplicating spell that he'd convinced an old friend to use for him. It was some help, as he could monitor certain indications of health without disturbing the patient. The pain turned into a faint, as it always did, and Bellamy was discreetly stretchered to a small, unused office from where disapparation was possible. Bellamy and his dog were taken home.

Bryce cured the mangled leg of the sincerely apologetic patient, and said that they'd be in touch if ever there was a likelihood of a cure, but using a different method.

Within a couple of hours, John was awake, and again, his mind seemed to be wandering. He didn't know Bryce, and claimed he couldn't possibly be his healer, though he allowed him to take various readings with his sensors, including some from a sensor touched to his head. But Bryce only shook his head at that one, the results made not the slightest sense.

Dieter came in and was greeted with a triumphant smile. John said, "I killed the last Dementor, Franz. It was a Privileged One, and now he's in a hundred pieces."

Dieter said gently, "That's great, Bellamy."

But his reply drew a puzzled frown, and then a sigh. "I'm not making sense, am I? Maybe in the morning." And John turned his head away and closed his eyes.

But in the morning, he was fine, and again, Pat didn't ask questions about a returned memory. This time, Bryce also refrained. Dieter, by that time, was deeply involved in a book about the extermination of the Dementors. It was the achievement that had earned Bellamy the title of 'Monster,' as well as the freshly invented Merlin Medallion. The Dementors had been parasites on Wizardkind, but the capability that Bellamy had shown, to kill a sinister magical creature that no other had ever been able to kill, had made people fear the wizard more than they had feared the Dementors.

Friday, Bellamy cured thirty Chinese wizards, and fifteen others, those patients put off from Wednesday, plus a couple only just referred from a London mediwizard. It made no difference to his work that his sight was poor again.

_**x**_

There was a letter from Clare Glover that week, with several photographs of a black haired baby who looked solemnly at the camera. Clare was getting married to a wizard called Jackson Longbottom. Pat raised her eyebrows when she read out the letter to her husband. "Quite an achievement to find the wizarding community, or did you help her?"

"I mentioned there were some in Melbourne, but that's all. She was trained by some sort of a spy agency, of course."

Pat nodded. "A very nice piece of detective work. It's lucky she's on our side, now."

Margaret and Edward returned from their honeymoon, and a day later, Margaret rode Sirius over, wanting the boss to inspect the repairs that he'd paid for. They found him in the workshop again, playing with old inventions. The Stoner Device was set up on a bench and busily working. Edward was enthralled, and said, "Pity you can't market it generally. It'd make you a fortune!"

John wandered back to the workshop after the visit to the castle, and looked frowningly at the device. Maybe it just needed a few adjustments and it would run on batteries or electricity, rather than with a tap of a wand. He was useless for that sort of work, though. He just couldn't see well enough.

Keifer Howard, Pat's brother, came from Australia, to visit for two weeks. His wife and two daughters as well. Everyone was warned. No magic in their presence. Keifer knew they were wizards, but his family didn't. Keifer's girls didn't see their cousins, unfortunately, as they were away at school.

The visit was successful. The girls found a new enjoyment in riding the ponies under the careful eye of Victor, and were in the swimming pool and spa every day. Young Tina loved the cats, and knew every one of the resident cats very quickly. Vivienne, maybe just to be different, took a fancy to the dogs, especially Forster. "He's balmy," she explained, "And people a bit balmy are always more interesting than ordinary ones."

After this comment, John wasn't surprised when he found the child often close, though she seemed too shy to actually talk to him.

Several times, Pat took the whole family on excursions in the small bus, and they explored the surrounding area. John didn't go, as an attack of illness in their presence would spoil the whole visit, and he wasn't feeling very optimistic at that time, but twice, Oliver and Steve went, which pleased the girls, who were not much younger.

An icy wind blew for most of their visit, but when the girls complained, their mother only pointed out that it was England, after all, and green and pleasant landscapes don't thrive under a hot sun. Luckily, they didn't notice that the library occupied far more space on the inside than it did on the outside.

Keifer made himself at home in the workshop, remodelled the Stoner Device for the medj market, and came to an amicable agreement with his brother-in-law on a profit split.

On their departure, Old Clare suddenly presented the girls with a painting of two spotted foals and a Dalmatian, all lying together in thick grass.

John was still half blind, still depended on Trey to help him see, but was contented enough. He hadn't tried to use his glasses for a long time, and the little horse book was still waiting. It had become a symbol to him. He wanted to read it himself one day, and _without _the book reader. There were still times when his head was filled with an unpleasant buzzing, but he went weeks without anything more.

There were more gymkhanas, more shows, and Paul sold more of his excess young stock and won more ribbons. His Andalusians were very high quality horses, and won prizes even when he only showed those he was not planning on keeping. Oliver and Steve were keener than ever, and had a reasonable amount of success. Victor kept a close eye on Maguire, and made sure he wasn't over-tired. Sparks was very consistent, but Oliver wasn't, and Steve was thrown once, when Storm jumped about five feet over a two foot six inch jump. It seemed to teach the keen little horse a lesson, and he went more carefully after that.

Even Victor was lured into competing, and, to his surprise, Tattler won a championship in the showing. But Victor seemed embarrassed about it, and declined to do it again. John helped looked after the horses, prettied them up between classes, wandered the sideshows, enjoyed sickening confections, and looked longingly at the show rides, but was never quite irresponsible enough to go on any.

Two more patients couldn't tolerate the telepathic cure, and had to be told there was no help for them at that time.

A book was published, jointly authored by Isaac and Bryce, comparative physiology of Medjkind and Wizardkind. Their writings about Henry Bellamy were unfinished, as they waited to see how he'd go in the next year or so. But neither of them were at all sure whether they'd ever dare publish that one.

Pat finally persuaded her husband to go with her to a couple of small social gatherings, which went without incident. They were both hosted by families who had small babies to show off. Pat knew it was important to the young mothers that their babies meet their famous ancestor. Hundreds of children could speak of him as 'Grandfather Harry,' now, though few actually knew him.

Pat was away more often in the days now that she felt her husband to be less fragile. She had her own interests, and spent time attending, and giving lectures and receiving acclaim for her own new book. She no longer thought that Henry needed her close presence, except at night. Even now, he liked to sleep very close.

***chapter end***


	40. Chapter 40

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belongs to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/__Chapter 19_

The young ones came home for the short Easter holidays, and John was escorted on his morning ride with a troupe of young riders. Oliver was always there, on his own speedy mare, and the three Bournes, although Susan was spending a lot of time with Marcus Pickering, and no longer rode every morning with her father. All the Bournes wanted horses now, declaring the ponies too slow. Even Ross and Ryan, still only eleven, said that they were quite definitely too big to be riding the quiet ponies. Victor frowned at the boys, but conceded, only limiting their choices to those horses he knew to be well behaved and tolerant.

Neither of the boys would say exactly what led up to it, but the first afternoon after the Bournes came home, Sidney found Oliver and Luke rolling over and over in a puddle, hitting each other as hard as they could. In spite of the boys' reticence, the adults were fully aware of the underlying reasons for the animosity. There was mutual jealousy. It was not just that Oliver wished he had magic, too, but because the Bournes were jealous of what they perceived as his privileged position close to the boss. Oliver's family had a history with Bellamy, while their parents had joined him less than twenty years before.

The culprits were hauled off to Ursula, who treated their bruises, and each confronted their separate angry fathers. The four parents had a serious discussion that day, but couldn't think of a way to resolve the problem, and only hoped that things would sort themselves out as the boys matured. Peter sighed. "It seems a shame. They were such friends when they were younger, and they're related, too, even if distantly." All the kids would have known Bellamy as 'Grandfather Harry,' if he hadn't been 'Boss' first.

_**x**_

John was fit and felt fine, though his sight was still poor. He hadn't been ill for any length of time since November, so was heavier than he'd been since his return. There were dizzy attacks now and then, but he was beginning to think it might be like the trembling, that he was always going to have that.

Easter Saturday, and the big Easter Horse Show. Victor was taking Oliver and Steve, but the Bournes turned up their noses, and freely used their magic to help make a cubby house instead, siting it high in a tree. They reckoned that if it was all right to use under-age magic out of school for Defence Practice, it was all right to use it to amuse themselves. Luckily for them, their father didn't find out.

Steve and Oliver took four horses to the show. Steve wanted to enter the show classes, and had been practising on one of the grey ponies for the purpose. It was middle-aged and a bit slow, but a beautiful pony. He still came second to the palomino, whose rider the boys were getting to know quite well. Like themselves, it seemed she went to just about every show or gymkhana within reasonable reach. Her name was Geraldine, though she said to call her Gedda, pronounced with a soft G, 'Jedda.'

Gedda had a new horse for the Junior Showjumping, a flea-bitten grey, 14.3hh. She called it Mosquito, and it looked like a small Thoroughbred. Gedda, Steve and Oliver were left after two jumpoffs, then only Steve and Oliver. In this age group, they never competed against the clock, as it was deemed too dangerous for children. One more jumpoff, which failed to split the pair, and they were consulted. Would they like to have yet another jumpoff, or would they agree to share the prize. Oliver looked at his friend, "Share?"

Steve nodded, "Share."

The boys brought Gedda back to the horse boxes afterwards, the large Pickering box parked next to Bellamy's. Bellamy was there, and so were Susan and Marcus, Susan fussing over Maguire, whose bridle was again decorated with ribbons, and Marcus preparing a three-year-old colt for his show class. Introductions were made.

Two aurors, in riding gear for disguise, glanced at each other. Bellamy would have to watch himself. There were far too many contacts with the medj world. One day, there would be questions. How did he stay looking like he was in his twenties? It was not a problem for most wizards, as a normal lifespan for Wizardkind was very similar to that for Medjkind - maybe on average a few years longer. But there was also the risk that talk of him would reach the ears of enemies. How well protected was his hidden home now? In the past, no Ministry official knew its location. Now, several aurors knew, and they didn't know how many others.

That evening, John was planning on going with Pat to the annual Ministry Ball. But she looked at him doubtfully. He was in dress robes, but he trembled slightly. It may not necessarily mean anything, and he said the occasional dizziness was unimportant. "I'll only stay an hour or so," he said, "But I'd quite like to put in an appearance."

Susan was all dressed up as well, and had passed her apparation test, so could look after herself. She was meeting Marcus there.

Peter would take Pat, and Bellamy himself was taking Trey. "I've never seen a dog at a Ball," said Pat, slightly doubtfully.

"Well, if they object, I'll just go home. No great loss." Pat decided they probably wouldn't object.

There was a great deal of comment when the great wizard put in an appearance. But he stayed with Pat, was introduced to people whom he would have known well once, and no-one asked him tactless questions. Kupec stayed at his elbow, and other aurors also watched over him. He spent some time talking to Professor Parker, who mentioned that she was, herself, a descendant. "You were Grandfather Harry when I was little," she said. But John couldn't feel like he could be a grandfather of this stately lady. He put on an expression of polite interest, and decided it was time to go.

It was a landmark, his first truly public appearance, and he felt a sense of achievement. The younger girls had been waiting for him, and Mary brought him hot chocolate and some cake that Louise had made, and announced that she was going to be a healer. Lesley said that she wanted to be a librarian, or maybe own a bookshop. "It would be so nice just to play with books all day," she said, and offered to read for her father.

Monday, and again four young riders waited for the boss. Oliver was off to the side, but he refused to give up his right to ride with the boss just because Luke, Ryan and Ross talked only to each other, and made an occasional scathing reference to 'the squib.' John had Trey with him, but Forster had taken a sudden fancy to Victor, and galloped around him all day, irritating him considerably.

John greeted his escorts, very aware of the ill feeling between Oliver and the others. Like their parents, he didn't know how to resolve it, except by taking care not to show favouritism. He had to hold hard onto the mane of his horse as they cantered toward the main gate, but it was just another dizzy attack and quickly over.

All the boys were armed, the wizards with their wands, as was routine and accepted, and Oliver with a new handgun, that had been enchanted so that it was not only very light to carry, but would not normally be noticed. Pat wore one like it, as a matter of habit, though Victor relied on a rifle if it ever became necessary. There were always loaded rifles about, though only certain people could penetrate the spells that kept them secure from misuse. Old enchantments still made it difficult to find the actual home of the great wizard, and even the property name on a board outside the gate had a spell that told witches and wizards that this was definitely_ not _the home of Henry Bellamy. But word had spread that Bellamy rode out on the moors, nearly every day.

The Richmond family were ambitious. They wanted to be the most powerful family of wizards around. But while Henry Bellamy lived, no wizard delving in dark magic could expect to achieve his ambitions. So now two Richmond brothers waited in ambush. They had watched from a distance before, and knew where the horses usually galloped, knew where they often stopped for a rest, knew where they liked to jump the stone wall. They'd followed them home twice, but could afterwards never remember, and when one checked a note that he'd made, the paper was blank. The property appeared still hidden to enemies, but outside, he was vulnerable. The Richmonds hadn't thought about school holidays, but didn't think four boys ranging in age between eleven and thirteen would be any threat to adult wizards. They'd probably run home crying.

The horses were galloping, the boys forgetting their disagreements, and relishing the speed of the horses. Two chestnuts, a piebald, and Oliver's black mare. John brought up the rear on his weird coloured skewbald. Trey had lost ground, but followed gamely.

The Richmonds apparated close, and each aimed a Death Curse, just as God Wot? quite suddenly slowed. John had his head bowed, and again clutched his horse's mane, trying to fight off the dizziness. The Death Curses missed him, but one struck the horse, which collapsed, sending him flying. Dazed, not even understanding that he was under attack, John was trying to stand up.

Oliver, more aware of the boss than the others, screamed a warning, wheeled his horse, and galloped back toward him, drawing his gun as he went, and shooting twice as two wands were again pointed at John on the ground. One wizard yelped and grabbed his leg, and both turned instead toward the boy, aiming at the more immediate threat. A stunner hit Sparks on the neck, but Oliver kept his head, freed himself as his horse fell, and still held his gun.

Luke managed to wheel his horse, and also galloped hard back toward the boss, Ryan and Ross at his heels. Luke's stunner missed the wounded wizard who was closest to him, but distracted him enough that his spell went wide again. John was on his knees, holding his head, trying to comprehend the danger, fighting the buzzing that roared in his head. He had to get up and fight.

The boys crouched low on their horses, making difficult targets. Stunners shot both ways, and one brought down Ryan's horse. Ryan followed Oliver's example, and crouched behind it, aiming from relative safety.

John tried to make magic, to make the wizards faint, but magic wasn't working for him. Both attackers ignored him for the moment, trying to bring down the boys before killing the helpless man. Oliver crouched behind Sparks, taking careful aim with his gun. He didn't want to kill, but if they aimed at the boss again, he would.

John managed to stand and took a swaying step toward the closest wizard, who was trying to hurt his boys. The wizard turned back to him, starting to utter the words of the Death Curse. Trey arrived, panting, and flew at his throat. The attacker's wand was momentarily forgotten, as he tried to fight off the furious dog.

Luke pulled his horse to a stop almost on top of the second wizard, and stunned him. The first wizard managed to throw the dog away from him, before whirling again on John, who fell, avoiding the spell by the simplest method available to him. Oliver uttered a shriek of purest rage and shot again, this time hitting the man in the shoulder so that he dropped his wand and was finally stunned by Ryan, the first successful stun spell he'd ever managed.

Both wizards were unconscious from the boys' stun spells, one bleeding from two bullet holes as well as bites on his arms and neck, though Trey had not managed to get his throat. Cautiously, Luke aimed his wand at a dropped wand and made it come to him. Ross followed his example with the other.

Then all four boys just stood, three wands and a gun aimed at the two wizards. The unhurt one was already beginning to stir. Trey's lip lifted, and he walked slowly, threateningly, towards him.

At last, John's head began to clear, and he looked up at his rescuers, and rose rather slowly to his feet. He glanced at the wizard who was beginning to revive and exerted his will. Then the other. The men could no longer apparate. They must not escape, they knew too much. "Well done," John said. "I was useless, but you were brilliant, all of you." He swayed again suddenly, and muttered, "Sorry, not well," and he went to his knees and then fainted.

Ross said, his voice high pitched, "What'll we do now?"

Oliver took charge. "You ride as quick as you can for help. We need the panel van for the boss, and a horse box for the prisoners." Ross nodded and went to his horse, who'd luckily not gone far.

Oliver said, "Luke, do you know how to make it so no-one sees us?"

Luke said uncertainly, "I'll try, I know the incantation."

Oliver nodded. "Try then. We don't want witnesses."

The unwounded man looked at those who had him covered - just boys. He made a sudden move towards Ryan who held his wand, but the dog snarled and a bullet hit the ground at his feet. Oliver, Luke and Ryan, side by side. The wizard stayed still and glanced at his brother, bleeding, but breathing.

He started swearing, but Ryan said calmly, "Mum says we're not supposed to listen to swear words," and, to the fury of the wizard, Ryan's wand made a movement, and the boy said _"Silencio."_

Oliver grinned, "Good one."

John tried hard to stop himself grinning as well. He was very aware of what was happening, though his closed eyes were turned away. His dizziness was coming and going, but he hadn't fainted. He wanted his boys to resolve their differences, and fighting as allies had to be the best way imaginable. He wished his horse hadn't been killed.

Quite suddenly, Sparks snorted, rolled over, and got to her feet, snorting again and shaking her head. Oliver gave a sigh of relief. He'd known his friend wasn't dead like God Wot? seemed to be, but it was good to know for sure that she was unharmed. There was Ryan's horse still down, but his breathing was clearly audible. The wounded wizard revived, but started moaning from the pain of two bullet wounds, which upset the boys and their determination wavered. John made no move, but the wounded man became unconscious again. His stun spell was a lot more effective than that of the boys.

The dizziness was on John again, but he couldn't really faint, as they were just boys, after all. He flattened his hand against the grass, drawing strength from it. Was the pain going to come? There was no way he could do anything if the pain came. Ryan's horse suddenly heaved himself upright, but flattened his ears at the wizards and stamped his foot. The unwounded wizard felt even more uneasy. He didn't know horses, and that one didn't seem to like him.

Luke said, "Maybe I should stun him again, and then I'll tie him up."

Oliver gave him the nod, and Luke succeeded in stunning the silently swearing wizard, and then made the spell to tie both of them up. Neither of the spells were very effective, as the stun only lasted a few minutes, and the ropes began to fall off as soon as he pulled against them. But the wizard was still covered with two wands and a gun. Except for trying again to apparate, he made no move, although his glare was ferocious, and Ryan, at least, shivered when he looked. Oliver was hoping that Luke's 'Don't Notice Me' spell was more effective than his tie-up spell. But help would be on its way shortly, and memories could be modified if necessary.

John thought that was enough, and tried to come to his feet. The boys would never be enemies again, he thought.

Luke said, "Ryan, go to the boss."

Ryan went and helped him to his feet. He was swaying again, white. Ryan said uncertainly, "He didn't hit you or anything, did he?"

John said, "He didn't hit me, just not quite well." He went to his horse, staggering slightly. The clownish head was doubled under, the bi-coloured mane flowing. Regretfully, John stroked him, kneeling beside him. God Wot? had taken the Death Curse that was meant for the great wizard. They should have known. He was not any sort of a great wizard any more. He hadn't even been able to defend himself. He drew his wand, but didn't think he could make magic when the buzzing was in his head.

But Garion Richmond saw that he had his wand out, remembered that this was the greatest fighter ever, and changed his mind about trying to make a break for it.

Ross's urgent yells as he galloped his horse through the gate brought quick results. He pointed, panted directions, and Sidney and Katrina apparated to where the other boys held two prisoners. Katrina immediately slapped anti-apparation charms on the two wizards - the first thing taught to an auror. John shook his head again, trying to throw off that accursed dizziness.

Both wizards were efficiently tied up while Sidney questioned the boys. John left it to them to make explanations. He was sitting beside his dead horse, and still, his head swam. This attack of dizziness was lasting far longer than any other, he thought, ever. It was still enormously better than the pain.

Ursula checked the RAB again before getting into the panel van. The signs were that the boss was about to have an attack, but she knew as well as he did that it was no longer an infallible signal. It looked like that often now, and nothing happened. Victor would bring the horse box, Peter with him.

John didn't wait for the aurors to come. As soon as his dizziness cleared long enough, he questioned the unwounded wizard to get details of how he'd been found and to find out if they'd told anyone else. Then he made the wizard forget, revived the other, questioned him very briefly, made him forget, and straight afterward, he made a wish that those others who'd been told, the Malfoys, would also forget, and added that surge of power. It was not a conventional spell, but Dieter said he was not a conventional wizard. He thought it would work.

Sidney and Katrina watched closely. John just stood, holding the cane he'd conjured that helped him keep his balance. His head was roaring again as the two vehicles drew near.

Victor went to the dead horse. "Did you want to do anything special with him?"

John said No, just save a part of the mane. Victor patted the horse's neck, pulled a pocket knife, and sawed off a piece of white and chestnut mane. He glanced at Peter, who waved his wand and the body vanished. John's eyes glistened wet. There could never be another horse like God Wot?. Victor handed him the piece of mane and he curled it in his fingers. He would bury that small part of God Wot? in the section of the garden where special pets were buried.

Ursula told him he should get into the panel van and lie down, restraining Trey as he went to jump in with the boss. He was white again, swaying, but Peter helped, and he lay down, as ordered. They left him alone for a while, and no-one watched as the pain hit, as hard as always. He'd known it was coming, and still couldn't make himself just be silent and still from the start. How could he endure? Surely death was better than such pain. Even without looking at him, when Ursula checked her RAB, she knew he'd gone down. The signs of distress were unmistakable.

The wizards were put in the horsebox, uncomfortably bounced around as the vehicle drove back across the rough ground. Aurors had been called, and were waiting with their questions and with their competent professionalism, immediately taking charge, slightly to the regret of Katrina. She and Therese had been among the best, once. She'd enjoyed doing it again.

There was a hitch. The aurors tried to disapparate with the wizards, stunning them first, as was the invariable practice with potentially uncooperative wizard prisoners. Katrina had to work the counter-charm for her spell a second time, before they realised that it had to be Bellamy's spell that kept the Richmonds from disapparating. Only Bellamy could undo his own spell, and Bellamy was sick. The aurors finally had to take the prisoners by slow medj transport.

Bellamy's illness had seemed to be building up for hours, and now, it went on for hours. They didn't move the panel van, just waited, Ursula and Sidney waiting with him, though it was not long before Kupec and Homer joined them as additional protection. It was mid afternoon before Ursula gave a sigh of relief. They could take him home, now, and they'd managed to avoid any fitting.

The boys were lavished with praise, and so was Trey, especially by Lesley and Mary, though Susan was crying in her room. It had been too close, and she should have been there to help. Quite unquestionably, the four boys, aided by the dog, had saved the life of the boss. It they had run, Bellamy, ill, would have been quite defenceless.

Dieter questioned the four boys, cross examining, but carefully, not making them worried. They were heroes, not criminals. Dieter intended that they should be recognised as heroes.

When Dieter finally left, Luke said, "I know where the drinks are kept."

Oliver grinned. He reckoned they deserved to celebrate a little. So the four boys climbed to a perch in a tree cubby house, and became merry together, although the alcohol contributed little. It was not a very potent drink, and only one bottle shared between four.

John was still very shaky the following morning. Ashamed, too. He'd been pathetic. The twins had done better, and they were only eleven. What if they'd been hurt? It would have been because of him. Pat told him sternly that he was being childish and he supposed she was right. She always was. The girls fussed over him. He couldn't see Susan's red eyes, but felt her upset and apologised for being so useless. For some reason, Susan seemed to think that made it worse, though her sisters told her not to be so silly, and so did Pat.

In the afternoon, he felt a lot better physically, and buried the white and brown hairs from God Wot? and made a small stone. God Wot? had died for him almost as much as Wilma had. He should have been able to detect the presence of those wizards, or even simply known there was danger. But he'd been oblivious.

A foot race swept past him, the four boys together, though Oliver braked and asked him politely how he was feeling. John called them all back, and thanked them again for looking after him so well. "You know, of course, that I would have been dead," he said.

Luke answered, still loyal, "Only because you were sick just then. They wouldn't normally have had a chance."

John answered, but doubtfully, "Possibly not."

A couple of hours later, Dieter and Bruce arrived. With them was Professor Jill Parker, who was not only a member of the Wizemgamot, but headmistress of Hogwarts. The four boys were given a call. They were difficult to find, playing a seek and destroy game in thickly growing reeds next to a waterhole. Peter looked at the muddy boys disapprovingly, and waved his wand over all four to clean them up before presenting them to their important visitors.

Jill Parker was quietly amused when she saw the boys. Peter's cleaning spell was not as effective as it could have been. Except for Victor, still watching the apparation zone, everyone was there, even Clare, although she'd grumbled when Gabrielle went to get her. But Gabby said, "Clare! They're getting _Orders of Merlin! _You _have_ to be there!"

Dieter spoke formally. They had done very well indeed, and their awards would have been made at an appropriate ceremony, except that, for their own protection as well as Bellamy's, it had to be kept quiet where they lived. One by one, he called them up, using their full names. Professor Parker made the awards, and Luke, Oliver, Ross and Ryan proudly wore their medals. Louise and Kitty provided a lavish morning tea, the boys helped themselves, then whispered together, took ample supplies and vanished.

Jill Parker had been a teacher for a long time. She'd taught all four of the boys' parents when they'd been children, and was happy to sit and gossip. "Great courage," she said. "All four of them. Like their ancestor, the great wizard himself."

John was pleased he was far enough away that he could pretend not to hear. It wasn't the first time that he'd heard a reference to 'the great wizard himself.'

She smiled at Peter, and said, "I don't know Oliver, does he not go to school?"

Peter said as if it was unimportant, "He goes to day school."

Professor Parker was embarrassed, but reminded herself that it was not a matter for shame to have a child without magic. So she said, "How many times does that make it that a Barnes has helped our Bellamy, even saved his life?"

Peter grinned. "Not many times has a Barnes so clearly saved his life, but Oliver will be the fifth generation to help look after him, and we're very proud of that."

Meantime, Dieter quietly asked Bellamy whether he'd be all right for work the following day. He answered that he'd be fine by then.

"After work tomorrow, we'll talk about the Richmonds," Dieter said. "An open trial might not be the best strategy."

John gave him a glance, but didn't pursue the subject then, and Dieter just went to talk to Pat. John was very quiet, just sitting and listening, as the others talked. They left him alone, suspecting the truth, that he was still not feeling very fit.

Bruce joined him. They'd once been very friendly, but now he knew his name and not much else. Bruce said casually, "Makes you feel bad, sometimes, when you find yourself helpless and you're not used to it."

John said ruefully. "I'm pretty used to it these days."

Bruce glanced at him, and said, "I still cringe when I think that I was once a pet called Muggins."

John looked at him questioningly.

Bruce had so seldom told the tale, though many knew. "Two young women kept three aurors as prisoners. That was their family hobby. I was only there about ten days, but many before me had lived years and years in a small prison, and then died there. They used to play with us sometimes, never letting us out of our cells, or coming close enough to do anything, but trying to make us do things, and if we didn't, we'd be punished by burn spells, nothing serious, but annoying." His chagrin showed as he admitted, "They were not powerful witches, knew few powerful spells, just very ordinary girls, in fact! They called me _Muggins!_"

John glanced at him. This impressive man whose penetrating intelligence was obvious, and he'd been called 'Muggins!'

Bruce continued, "Anyway, I knew you, though not very well, concentrated the best I knew how, and you came to get us out."

John admitted, "When people tell me that I used to do things like that, I don't know whether to feel good about it or not. It seems so far away."

"You're still the same person, whether you think so or not." He grinned. "Aurors tend to be arrogant, conceited types, they think they can't possibly be defeated, but I still couldn't help myself, and neither could the ones they called Scarface and Ginger. We would have all died except for you, and possibly more after us."

John looked around for inspiration, and finally picked up a plate of sweet food, and offered it to Bruce. Bruce smiled as he accepted, and told him instead about how good it was to be in a desk job, no longer expected to maintain impossible fitness standards.

The following day was Wednesday. John felt fine and did his usual day's work, perfectly quickly and easily, before joining Bruce, Dieter, Jill Parker, and Cynthia Agnew in a conference room. Dieter tried hard to be tactful, as he reminded him that he was always a target, and that it should not become known that a straightforward ambush had come so close to being successful. The Richmonds had to be kept quiet, and an open trial would inevitably lead to word spreading. "They've not been allowed to talk to anyone, and we know that you told them to forget where you lived, but we need to investigate a bit further. You need to take off the memory modification you did, and you need to take off the anti-disapparation charm you put on, as it's a pest."

John apologised, and admitted he'd forgotten that.

"The thing is," said Professor Parker, leaning forward, "If we don't have a trial, then they cannot be punished, so you need to agree to that, and then I can give them instructions not to hurt anyone any more. I have skills in that form of magically enhanced hypnosis. Then we make sure they forget all about it and let them go. Do you agree?"

John said, "I think they only tried to stun the boys. But if they aimed a single Death Curse at any of them, they should be severely punished."

"We'll question them then, here and now. And in front of you."

The Richmond brothers were brought in, one limping slightly from a bullet wound in his leg, still sore in spite of Bryce's healing spell. Maybe Bryce had not been as effective as he normally was. On request, John removed his spells from the wizards, and then listened very carefully as Bruce interrogated them. They tried to resist once, and Bruce asked Dieter if he was permitted to use compulsion. Dieter nodded. Their crime was proven, compulsion was not unethical.

"Well?" Bruce said, finally, turning to Bellamy.

He nodded. "As you suggested."

Professor Parker raised her wand and spoke to the first wizard, very precisely and clearly. The wizard would not be able to attack any person or animal. He would not be able to assist anyone else to attack any person or animal. He would not be allowed even to defend himself, if attacked. John raised his eyebrows at that one, but the others looked unmoved. Richmond had tried to commit murder after all, and if he found himself unable to defend himself sometime in the future, then so be it. Then the memory, and Professor Parker was again very precise. The wizard would not remember anything about trying to kill Bellamy, not remember how close he had come to succeeding, and not remember anything about where he might be found.

Bellamy listened with more than just his ears. The process seemed quite straightforward, but he wanted to know how easy it was to break the instructions.

The professor paused, though she held her wand still raised, and turned to Dieter - "Anything else?"

"Not to remember anything for the next week," said Dieter, and Jill added that.

Dieter explained to Bellamy, "So none of this is remembered, and they won't know why they found themselves all confused, at whatever place we decide to dump them."

Jill lowered her wand. The wizard looked baffled, but made no attempt to do anything at all. "It _will _stick," she told him. "Even memory modification spells are very rarely undone, as it is very likely to damage the victim permanently. Youused to be able to do that without hurting the person, but risky for anyone else."

John nodded. Was there anything he _hadn't_ been able to do? Sometimes, he thought he didn't like that famed great wizard very much - bit of a smart Alec really!

The same process was carried out on the second wizard, and the aurors escorted them out. The discussion turned to a suitable place to dump them. "France," finally said Dieter. "There are rumours that it's where Bellamy lives, and it might help perpetuate those rumours."

John asked Professor Parker to explain what she'd done. The professor went into lecture mode, and all of those present listened with considerable respect. The skills demonstrated were not common.

John finally turned to Dieter and asked why they locked anyone up, ever, if they could just do that.

Dieter said, "Criminals should be punished. These ones, there were special circumstances, but they got off basically scot free, and none of us really like that."

John suggested, "You could give them boils for a few months."

Dieter laughed, but said, "Any competent healer knows the counter-curse for boils. It's even taught in first aid courses."

That evening, John said to Pat that it might be better if there were not quite so many holes in the fence. Pat nodded. Definitely better. There were a couple that had to stay, now frequently used shortcuts to Paul's place, and to the village on the opposite side. She told him about the enchantments that made his home hidden. He no longer remembered how the magic was supposed to be made, but his methods seemed to work anyway. The enchantments were renewed.

The boys were no longer enemies, and started to pair off a little, as they had before their different destinies became apparent. Luke and Oliver, who were almost the same age, and the twins. But when an excursion to the seaside was suggested, riding, and overnight, Oliver said that he wanted to invite his _Best_ Friend, Steve Barton. The excursion was approved, although they were escorted by Peter and by Cameron, whose daughters also came. Maria said to Oliver that she heard he was a hero. Luke told her, she said. Oliver said casually that the Barnes always had to look after the boss, it was just in a day's work, and secretly preened himself the rest of the day when the girls looked at him with open admiration.

To Pat's relief, Bellamy didn't suggest that he should go, as well. The reminder of his vulnerability was too recent. He might only spoil the excursion, or even put them at risk.

But then, the children went off again to school, and he suggested to Pat that if she had another child, they should teach her at home. She smiled at him, and said, "I'm too old to have another child!"

He looked at her in surprise, and she realised that, in all this time, it had never occurred to him that she was in her fifties. She remembered what Beth had told her once, _Trust him to love you. Even when you're old, and he could still pass for twenty-four._ Henry Bellamy was good at loving, and external appearance had little to do with it.

***chapter end***


	41. Chapter 41

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/__Chapter 20_

It was only a week later, at dinner. Pat was telling her husband that she was nominated for a prestigious prize for her latest book. She blinked in surprise when he abruptly rose from his chair. He checked his wand was in his pocket, said very briefly, "I'll be back as soon as I can," and vanished from the spot, leaving his wife staring.

Fearless Zoe Kasey, formerly Zhor Khatabi, had never hesitated to walk the streets of Rome when she chose, whether after dark or not. She was a witch, wasn't she, and not only that, but a very powerful witch. But the teenager's attempts to draw her wand were muffled by strong arms wrapped around her, and she was dragged into a dark alley for the rape. A moment's half freedom, as the second man pulled at her clothing, and she managed to get to her wand, but a punch on the jaw subdued the wildcat and she dropped her only weapon.

A man glanced into the alley from the brightly lit street, and hurried past. She screamed in her mind, _Bellamy! _

Bellamy appeared, and two men dropped. Zoe stood erect, pulled her clothing straight, and said coolly, "Thank you." Her face was calm, but her body trembled. Bellamy could scarcely see her, but he could feel how she trembled, and how, in her courage, she sought to conceal her upset.

"Help me find my wand," she commanded.

Bellamy looked around blindly, and then admitted, "I can't see well enough."

She glanced at him, and continued searching herself. It didn't take long, and she aimed at the first man. "What are you going to do to them?" Bellamy asked nervously.

"Castrate and disembowel them," answered Zoe, coolly.

Bellamy said, "Zoe, would you mind letting me deal with them?"

Zoe looked at him and lowered her wand. Bellamy raised his own. The two thugs roused and stood up.

Bellamy, copying Jill Parker, dominated their minds, and used a quiet, deliberate voice as he said that they could never again make any attacks on any human or animal, could not assist anyone in attacking any person or animal, and could not even defend themselves if attacked. He also said that they would never again be able to function as a man with any woman or man who was not totally willing. The men stood paralysed and terrified. They would not be able to break those instructions.

Bellamy said casually, to Zoe, "I think castration and disembowelment a touch extreme, but they certainly should be punished. You could give them boils for a few months, for instance, or maybe you have something in mind?" One of the men whimpered.

Bellamy said, still casually, "No loud noises."

Zoe was getting into the spirit of the thing, and said, "What about turning their muscles to jelly?"

Bellamy smiled, but said, "It should not be something that ordinary doctors recognise as magic."

"There's the Hiccupping Curse, no rest, night or day, until it stops."

Bellamy nodded. "That's appropriate, but put a limit on it. It's too cruel once they get old."

"The Hiccupping Curse for one then, what about the other?"

"Well, we can't turn them into pigs or frogs, or someone might notice. There's Clumsy, or Trembling, or maybe the Crying or Fainting Curse - have all their cronies laughing at them."

Zoe smiled, "Let them decide?" But the men only whimpered in their terror, and one already had tears running down his face. In the end, one had boils for a few months, though the spell was non verbal, so he didn't know there was a time limit, and one would faint whenever he looked at a woman with lust. Bellamy smiled at that one, most appropriate, but luckily for the man, that one had a time limit on it, as well.

They left the men, trembling, punished, but remembering. It wouldn't do them much good. What doctor would believe that they'd been punished for raising a hand to a witch?

"Najia would like to see you," said Zoe. "Come back to our place for a while?"

Bellamy agreed, but there was a detour as Zoe bought the carton of milk she'd come out for in the first place, then hesitated, and bought a large block of chocolate as well. She still felt quivery inside, though she refused to acknowledge it. She'd only had sex three times in her life, when she'd done as ordered with her uncle Hicham. He'd wanted her again, but she'd refused, and Hicham had conceded. A week later, it was confirmed she was pregnant, and as that was the purpose of the exercise, she was left alone from then on.

Pat, at home, was pacing. She guessed what had happened. Someone had called for help, and he had gone to help. But she knew there were too many times when he was suddenly dizzy, though they hadn't discussed it. A ringing, brightly coloured ball appeared next to her, with a message attached. She sighed with relief. She knew where he was now, and stopped worrying - almost.

Meantime, Bellamy was talking to Najia and Zoe, eating chocolate, and drinking coffee. Zoe mentioned that she was glad she'd found her wand, and Najia suddenly asked Bellamy, "Did you ever get back your wand after Grandmother Riza hurt you?"

Bellamy shook his head. He was casual, and genuinely casual, as Zoe could tell. "Mary found me one in the store-room. It was a spare."

The girls looked at each other. He didn't even realise his own loss. But the wand of a witch and wizard became very special to that person. It was matched to them at the age of normally around eleven, by specialised wand makers, and kept either on them or very close for the rest of their lives. A wizard was always buried with his wand in his hand. But Bellamy was damaged, and didn't know what he'd lost.

Najia mentioned that Pat had sent them one of his books, as well as the spell-breaking books, and she held up the book with the horse and foal on the cover. Bellamy cocked his head slightly, but no image came to him, and he only said that Pat was very thoughtful. Zoe looked at him suspiciously, tempted to pry, but felt Bellamy's eyes on her and she refrained. Instead, she asked for details of what he'd done when he 'destroyed' the family. He answered that he'd been told that he'd ordered them not to attack anyone and to want to go their separate ways. Also that their magic would become very weak.

Najia said, "When I was leaving, I was seen, but neither of the men tried to stop me, as I expected them to. On the other hand, a few days before, they whipped me."

Bellamy sat up in his chair, "You were whipped?"

"I didn't do what I was supposed to."

Bellamy said, "I'm very sorry you were punished. All the same, I'm glad that I don't have a child growing up in a family where it's taught that it's all right to hurt people."

Najia smiled. "I thought I was being so seductive, dancing for you."

The memory swirled through him, and he said, "Bloody_ hell_, you were seductive! I don't know where I found the strength to resist!"

Najia laughed and blushed, and Bellamy also reddened.

Zoe asked curiously, "You're remembering more things?"

John grinned. "I think that's memory Number five. There's just a few to go!"

John was a lot better pleased with himself when he returned to Pat and told her about it. He felt as if he'd redeemed himself somewhat, and stopped fretting about his pathetic performance against the Richmonds.

Back in Rome, Zoe said, "He's still badly damaged. He suffers terrible pain sometimes, he can barely see, and he's lost his wand."

Najia nodded, and then smiled. "I bet _he_ could show you that love-making is not necessarily horrible."

Zoe said mockingly, "How would you know? You never actually had him?"

"No, but I bet he'd be good," and she tried again to persuade her younger cousin just to try it. Najia enjoyed an active sex life, although all her affairs were short-lived. She didn't really want a man hanging around to be a nuisance, any more than did Zoe.

Zoe dreamed about him that night, and lay awake afterwards, for a long time. She wondered if he could really show her that sex was all right. She put that thought out of her head. She'd been through it three times. It hurt, and even when it didn't hurt much, it was really quite disgusting. Her uncle Hicham had bad breath, too, though she supposed all men might not have bad breath. She would have been mated again, by now, she supposed, if she'd still been obediently at home. Would she have escaped if so many of her family had not been influenced by Bellamy? It was whispered that Aunt Bouchra had twice tried to escape. That was why she wasn't allowed a wand and why her legs were crippled. She and Najia owed Bellamy a lot, and that night she started making plans to repay the debt.

Najia, at breakfast, was frightened at the idea. Zoe described Bellamy's instructions to the two thugs, said that she'd listened, and those instructions could not be overcome. Najia listened closely, sighed, and agreed to help. Najia and Zoe were going to try and retrieve Bellamy's wand for him.

As it was, Zoe's 'Don't Notice Me' Charm worked very well, no-one raised the alarm, and three wands were abstracted from a certain drawer once used by Riza Khatabi. Najia pulled out some papers, and two dark heads bent over the plans of projected matings. Zoe pointed to her own name. "Yiko? He's so _old!_"

Najia said, "There are spells - no doubt he'd have been able to perform."

Zoe shivered, and the papers were vanished.

Wandmakers kept records, and Zoe and Najia made a visit to London. Madam Ollivander placed each wand, one by one, into a magical device. Two only came up with the name of the wandmaker, but the third was an Ollivanders' wand, and Madam Ollivander pointed to the slip of paper. _Henry Bellamy, formerly known as Harry Potter._ The girls smiled triumphantly at each other.

The long, thin parcel arrived on a Thursday. It was marked 'Personal,' and Ursula only checked to make sure that it was harmless, before setting it aside for Bellamy. He usually came in not long after his morning ride, though he was late that day, as he was helping Clare move her easel and paints to her chosen position. Clare was willing to talk to him while she set up, and indicated her chosen subject, the two spotted fillies, now yearlings. A slightly mad Dalmatian dog ran around them, barking, urging them to play in the spring air.

Nearby, Naji looked at them with pricked ears, and two Andalusian mares placidly grazed on the new spring grass. As soon as Clare was ready to start, she glanced at him, and he left before the dismissal came.

Ursula had the usual piles of mail on the sorting table, though three letters from young girls were tucked out of sight. She didn't think the boss should be tempted, just in case. His appearance at the Ministry Ball had apparently revived the fashion.

There was another letter from Clare Glover, thanking him for the wedding present, and asking for a different sum of money to come to her, a reduced sum, just for the support of the baby. She said how wonderful little John was, though serious for a baby, unlike his father. He was just starting to walk, which, she said, made him very forward for his age. (Birthday, twenty-third July.) She wanted to tell Jackson of the child's parentage, but would only do so with his father's permission.

John wrinkled his forehead. "What do you think, Ursula?"

Ursula replied, "I don't suppose it'll do any harm, and he'll know anyway, at some stage, that it was almost certainly a wizard." She concluded, "Best ask Pat."

John nodded. He'd ask Pat.

Ursula asked, "The money?"

"Whatever she wants."

Ursula nodded. She'd organise it. She summarised the rest of the mail. Invitations, Thank you letters, a letter from Rosa, which he put in his pocket for later, a couple of lunatic type letters, "We get those occasionally," and then she handed him the package.

He turned it over in his hand, even held his hand over it, and said, puzzled, "It contains magic, but it's not dangerous."

"All mail goes through a checking device which you invented yourself. Nothing dangerous would get through."

John said, "Prudent!"

Ursula nodded. "Alison said that it still makes you quite a lot of money. Nearly every wizard household has one, even though hardly any actually need it."

He felt, and started to unwrap the package. He fumbled, and the wand box fell, spilling the wand. He stared, and then, without any fumbling at all, he picked up the wand. It was like Phoenix song filled the air, a wind stirred, raising hair and shuffling papers. Red and gold sparks flew from the end of the wand. Still, he didn't quite understand.

"Ursula?" he said, questioning.

Ursula thought she knew, and picked up the spilled note. _Thought you might like your own wand back. Najia and Zoe._ Ursula had a smile all over her face. She knew its importance, even if Bellamy no longer seemed to. Bellamy caressed it, as if it was a living thing. And he could feel it, almost purring, as if it was a living thing. He looked up at Ursula, his eyes shining. "It is my own wand." And then he was up, "I have to tell Pat."

Ursula opened her mouth, but was too late, as he hastened off loudly calling his wife. But Pat was out for the day. He remembered after a while, and visited every other person on his property to tell them instead, not analysing why he was so thrilled, but knowing that it was something of major importance.

He was in very high spirits, and when word came that Alison had had her baby, it only confirmed for him that it was a very special day.

Saturday, he was allowed to hold Alison's baby, and he caressed the soft cheek, and murmured to the sleeping child, and assured Alison, total conviction in his words, that the baby boy was undoubtedly the most beautiful baby in the world. Alison smiled. She'd known he'd say that. This time, of course, she knew it was true. Jason Alexander Arbuckle _wa_s the most beautiful baby in the world.

Cec took him outside then, ostensibly to admire the first lambs. He took a while to come out with it. "Is he going to have magic, too?"

Bellamy looked at him in surprise. "I didn't think to feel for it. I can, of course, if you want. I think I can tell."

"Alison wants to know, too. It's not just me. It makes a difference how we bring him up, you see."

Bellamy nodded. Children with magic could sometimes cause problems. He went back inside and gently touched the forehead of the sleeping child. Alison and Cec both watched, and he concluded. "He doesn't have magic. He's Medj."

Cec heaved a deep sigh of relief, and then said, "Sorry, my love, but it frightened me a bit, the thought of bringing up a wizard."

Bellamy grinned. "We're not so bad!"

Alison asked curiously, forgetting that he wouldn't remember, "You told me once you were brought up in a medj household. Were there problems?"

Bellamy said, "Strange things happened around me and my uncle gave me regular thrashings. There were problems."

Cec touched his sleeping son, and said softly, "I couldn't imagine thrashing my child."

Alison laughed, "Well, of course not. He's the most beautiful baby in the world!"

Bellamy was joined for his morning ride by both Oliver and Steve, and later by Edward and Margaret, both of them glowing with the happiness of being young and in love. The five horses, all but one of whom were Line of Sheba, thundered over the moors in a charge, Storm gradually falling back, and, after a while, Sparks. Edward glanced back and slowed Heathcliffe, but Margaret and Bellamy raced on, until Brandon fell back, and Sirius streaked to the lead. Sirius was unrivalled now.

It was spring, the season of new growth and new life. More than in any other year, Bellamy enjoyed the feeling that filled him of the life all around, as grass grew, trees covered themselves with new foliage, and young animals were born. There were three cats first, three litters of kittens, born within a week of each other. Louise had been entrusted with the anti-conception spells, but it seemed she wasn't very good at it. Then one of Victor's dogs hid herself away in the walled garden, and had four puppies. Victor said they were wanted, of course, but that Kitty had to do the spells next time, as he already had three dogs, not to mention that stupid spotted mutt that still followed him wherever he went.

The first lambs arrived, and the gardens, tended by Gabrielle and by Ursula, were a mass of colour. Victor examined Naji, and said that it might only be a week or two before she dropped her foal, the same as the Andalusians.

Bellamy looked into the walled garden, talked to the bitch, looked at her pups, and told her they were the most beautiful pups in the world. But then he touched the stone of Luna. He still couldn't see her face.

***chapter end***


	42. Chapter 42

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/__Chapter 21 _

Wednesday. Work at the Ministry. It was routine, putting on dress a bit more formal than jeans and shirt, throwing on his cape, and with a very great pleasure, putting his own wand into the wand pocket. The wand he'd been using was back in the store-room, a spare again.

Jilla greeted him. "A full day, sixty patients, although only two English. We might need a second day, soon."

"Where from?"

"Thirty from Japan, another fifteen from China and Korea. They still duel over there, and most of our patients today are a result of duelling. There's three children, as well, and that was a Persian, who thought that his wife shouldn't take his children away."

Bellamy smiled at her. "Guess what, I've got my own wand back. Zoe and Najia Kasey found it for me."

Jilla beamed at him. "That's wonderful!"

He pulled it out and caressed it. Again, there were some sparks, attracting the attention of Kupec, who would, as usual, stay close. "My own wand!" Bellamy said again.

Kupec suggested, "The most beautiful baby in the world?"

Bellamy laughed. "No, that's Jason Alexander Arbuckle, not quite a week old. But this is obviously the most beautiful _wand _in the world."

Jilla had scheduled the children first. Three terrified children, holding on tight to their mother's robes. Each of the small children had a pig snout. Bellamy smiled at them, but their eyes only looked more terrified. He made a very small, non threatening movement with his wand. The mother sighed and thanked him in Arabic. He replied in the same language, taking it for granted that he could speak it. He already knew he could speak a lot of languages.

The oldest child reached up, felt her face and a smile spread. "Thank you," she whispered, maybe in case a louder voice might cause the famous wizard to become angry. But he only smiled and nodded, and looked at Kupec, who opened the door for the family to leave.

It was a full day, with three in the morning necessitating the telepathic cure. They were Japanese. Bellamy wondered if there was a particular trouble-maker over there, but didn't ask. He might have been able to successfully intervene in law enforcement once, he didn't believe he could do that now. There were no problems, two not feeling his intrusion, and one managing to remain calm, and thank the wizard afterward, concealing his resentment.

As well as Kupec, there were always other aurors on duty, in the corridors and in the waiting room, and extras in the workroom whenever the telepathic cure was needed. It was a favourite duty, partly because they had the privilege of sharing the lunch. There was always an excellent lunch provided. It was on Bryce's insistence - he still wanted Bellamy less thin.

Bellamy laughed and joked with Reece and Homer, Jeremy and Larry, although Collette was in a training session, and not on duty that day. Dieter usually dropped in for a quick word with his friend, too, and this time found him in the act of feeding his dog a salmon sandwich. He grinned. "It's supposed to make _you_ fatter, not the aurors, and certainly not the dog!"

Bellamy said, "Zoe and Najia found my wand for me."

Dieter was surprised. "I heard they had some time off, I didn't know that's what they were doing!"

"Seems so. I hadn't even thought of doing anything like that."

Early in the afternoon, Bellamy attempted to do a telepathic cure, but after a few minutes, stood back, head spinning, as a Japanese wizard violently rejected his intrusion, throwing him out of his mind. He was abruptly pulled out of danger by Kupec, who shielded him with his own body, but the man only stood, breathing furiously, before breaking into a torrent of accusatory accusations. Trey snarled and put himself also between Bellamy and the patient.

Bellamy didn't know Japanese, and called in the interpreter again. Meantime, he leaned against the wall, trembling slightly. He still had his wand in his hand and was caressing it, rather to the amusement of Bryce. When the interpreter came, he said to tell the man that he would not attempt that method again, but if the man was willing, he would attempt another method, but only last in the day. There was only a small chance that it would work.

The man spat out something furious, but was pulled away by the interpreter, who was speaking to him fast in his own language. Bryce was looking very seriously at Bellamy. "Are you going to try the strong magic?"

Bellamy shrugged. "I don't know if that man is likely to want to see me again. If he does, then, yes, it might be time to have another go."

By afternoon tea, word had come back. Yes, the man wanted him to try again, but only if he was going to use a different method, as he didn't want snakes in his head again.

"_Snakes_ in his head?" said Bellamy. "I don't know that I like being experienced as a snake!"

Five more patients, quick and easy, and the Japanese man was shown back in. Bellamy indicated that he needed the interpreter again, and this time, the patient with the pig tusks was warned that if Bellamy managed to produce the strong magic, it could be frightening, but that it would not hurt him, and that Bellamy must not be interrupted when he was concentrating. Again, it was not in his memory, he was speaking words that he'd written in his book.

The man stood solid, and declared that he was ready.

Bellamy was looking down, caressing his wand again. He had his own wand, but where was that power he'd once been able to call up?

Bryce jumped and looked at Dieter, who'd come in specially. Bellamy still didn't look at the patient, only at the wand, touching it, running his fingers up and down it, as a feeling grew in the air. At last, he looked up and raised his wand, now confident. The patient stood sturdy. A humming in the air, not quite a sound, lightning in the air that was not quite visible. A tornado with no movement of the air.

Reece shuddered, but neither Bryce nor Dieter nor Kupec showed how they disliked that feeling.

Bellamy was confident, directed the magic into a cure, but now he could know himself more, suddenly, and he finally understood the damage that afflicted him. The shield that he'd somehow made himself, that had protected him, had hardened into something that felt subjectively like a black hole. But now the shield splintered.

They watched him as he stood, an expression only of calm concentration on his face, as the power vibrated in the air.

"You're finished, Bellamy," Bryce said hesitantly. "He's cured. You can stop now." He thought that maybe Bellamy couldn't control it, that maybe the magic had taken over and was about to destroy him. But Bellamy had a new cure in mind, and when Bryce tried to go to him, he found he could not approach.

"Just wait!" said Dieter, pulling the healer back. The patient took a look at the great wizard, who still seemed to vibrate with his power, felt again the absence of pig tusks, and sidled out the door. Trey sat, alert, watching the boss, but not going near.

There were strands of magic encircling his mind, encircling his memory. It needed no great power now, rather it needed care, precision, in order not to damage himself further. The inaudible thrumming died from the air, but there was still his unseeing gaze into the distance, and when Bryce tried to approach again, he found he could not.

The memory modification spell, used to wipe all memory, had been performed again and again. One by one, with enormous care, Bellamy undid the spells, strand by binding strand. At last, his mind was free. The shield was splintered. There was one thing more. RAB served no purpose. He would be better now and never suffer the pain again. Those who tried to help him didn't need it. In a casual postscript, Bellamy vanished RAB 1 from inside his right arm. His slight trembling turned into violent shudders. "It's done," he said, looking at Dieter. But then he dropped to the floor.

This was not the same as the attacks of pain that had plagued him for so long. Part of it was exhaustion, because he'd kept up the strong magic for much longer than it took to cure his patient, as well as the deep and careful concentration needed as he worked on himself. But there was an overwhelming shock to his mind as well, as memory came flooding back, and other things, knowledge, experience of life, a hundred and sixty-five years of living.

Bryce checked him with the Nisco, but Bellamy seemed all right, just that energy levels were extremely low.

Again, Bellamy was returned to his wife, unconscious in the arms of Kupec. Again, Bryce fussed around for the rest of the day, and then asked if he could spend the night. He didn't seem to be able to do anything to help, but he wanted to be there.

It was the afternoon of the next day before Bellamy half woke, and accepted the meal that Ursula fed him, before closing his eyes again. He slept, woke for brief periods, enough to feed himself the next day, but he was dazed, not seeming to know anyone and not speaking. The specialist healer was called in, Healer Borthwyck. Nancy listened to a description of his illness, apparently triggered by the strong magic that he'd kept up far too long. She did some careful monitoring, touching sensors to his forehead, and then just looked at him and thought.

His gaze wandered, taking no notice of the people around him. Pat said impatiently, "Well?"

Healer Borthwyck spoke slowly. "I don't think you should be disheartened. I think it's possible he is healing, fully, totally. But be patient. It was severe damage, and healing it would be a terrible shock to his mind."

Pat took her Henry's hand, and he squeezed it. She said hopefully, "Henry?" But he didn't answer.

Ursula, quite quickly, found the RAB didn't work. She was in the habit of checking it several times a day. He'd finally vanished RAB 1 as she'd always expected him to, the moment he became aware of its presence. She quietly put away the RAB 3. She wouldn't mention it. Maybe he'd never know that she'd ever had one.

In the night, Pat jumped to attention when she found him out of bed. It was all right, he was only having a shower. She helped him dry himself afterward, and coaxed him back to bed. He cuddled very close and went back to sleep. For a horrible moment, she wondered if the Cha Keeyo Curse had been somehow reactivated and he'd lost his mind. But then she took a deep breath. A victim of the Cha Keeyo Curse did not get himself up and have a shower.

He wandered outside in the morning. Pat watched, but didn't interfere. There were new leaves in the trees, and he jumped to the lowermost branch, and swung himself up, finding a secure perch in a fork, and hooking his leg around a bough so that he didn't need to balance. Then he leaned his head against the trunk and closed his eyes. Trey and Forster lay close together beneath.

Pat called to him when it came close to lunchtime, and he swung himself down and joined her. Pat put a hand around his waist and squeezed. For the first time, he spoke, "There's too much in my head, and I'm in chaos."

Pat said comfortingly, "It'll sort itself out."

That night, Pat leapt to attention as the alarm on the front door sounded. Hurriedly, she grabbed a dressing gown and ran out after him, not waiting to put on shoes. Trey barked, and she followed the sound of the dog, but Katrina was outside, too, and pointed. He was with Naji, running his hands over her flanks as she laboured to give birth to her first foal. Three hours later, a tiny dark foal lay beside the tired mare, but Victor was there by then, and Peter as well, purely to help keep an eye on the boss. He was a lot of trouble.

Pat was very tired, and Victor and Peter were grateful to go back to bed, as well. One of the Andalusians foaled as well that night, quickly and easily, and unobserved.

Bryce and Isaac visited early the following day, Sunday. Bellamy looked at them apparently without recognition, was silent when asked questions, but allowed Bryce to do his readings. "We've called off the spell-breaking for a while," he said.

Bellamy said, "Good."

He wandered off as soon as he was released, but Pat had not concealed from anybody that he might be confused. He would not be allowed to wander off the property or to endanger himself. She told Bryce what he had said, 'There's too much in my head, and I'm in chaos.'

Bryce said with satisfaction, "Healer Borthwyck might be right then. He's going to get fully, totally better."

Meantime, Bellamy visited Naji and the foal, and the Andalusians, one of them also with a brand new, almost black foal. He was going to get better, but right now, if he thought too much, it made his head ache. Instead of thinking, he went to the Old Horses' Paddock and spoke to Badham, whom he'd ridden for many years. "I'm sorry I didn't remember," he told the bay, and hugged him.

He wanted to go swimming. The rhythmical strokes would help him sort himself out. He rarely went in the swimming pool, because two of the men would have to be called from whatever they were doing, just to stay close in case he collapsed. He wasn't going to collapse ever again, but maybe they didn't know that. This time he asked, and Peter and Archie made themselves available, Archie just sitting, almost dozing, on a comfortable chair close to the pool, and Peter in swimming with him for a while.

Not fast, but very steady, Bellamy lapped the pool for a long time, untiring, smoothly stroking.

Peter pulled himself out after a while, and joined his father. Archie glanced at him. "Pat and Bryce are hopeful. They say he just needs a time of quiet, and he might be himself again. Fully."

Bellamy went into the gym afterwards, not exercising to help himself think, rather exercising to stop himself thinking too much. There was so much to know, and too much, all at once, made him feel panicky.

Norm Lockwood came over once, but Pat said that Bellamy was not himself and should not be disturbed. Bellamy heard in his mind, and was relieved and grateful. He was in a tree, a pair of birds busily building their nest right next to him, Trey below him, and Naji, as well, out of her paddock, and grazing on new spring grass. Her foal nodded sleepily. The Andalusian mares had ignored the open gate Naji had left, and were still obediently where they were supposed to be. Both of them had foals beside them now.

Forster suddenly started barking and raced over to the apparation zone. Other dogs looked, but no other followed. Bellamy swung himself down and went to the apparation zone, stretched out a hand, and said in a tone of wonder, "Ginny!" His first wife, whom he'd lost so long ago. It was not a real ghost, but he saw her again. And now the memory of her came back fully. After a while, she wasn't there any longer, and he went to a thick grove of trees where, long ago, they had gone together sometimes. He lay in the dry, thick grass and remembered Ginny.

He ignored Pat, or maybe didn't hear her when she tried to call him in for lunch, but she saw his face, just staring into the distance, and she left him alone. He had a history. He'd been very old when Pat met him. There was a lot to know again. That night, as they lay in bed together, he told her about Ginny and his first family.

Pat caressed his body. She was a wise woman, and didn't think of being jealous. And when they made love, it was Pat with whom he made love, no-one else.

He didn't ride in the mornings that week, just hopped on Bess sometimes, or one of the aged mares, and walked them slowly around the well-known tracks of his own property.

Isaac and Bryce came a few more times, and he greeted them courteously enough, but refused to answer questions, and Pat finally asked them just to leave him alone for a while. He needed time. Bryce started to argue, but Isaac put a restraining hand on his arm, and he glanced at his friend and subsided.

On Saturday, the second Saturday after he raised the strong magic, he found Oliver and Steve, their horses saddled, and Brandon standing next to them. Oliver said, "It's time to come for a gallop. Clear the cobwebs out of your brain!"

Bellamy laughed, and said, "You're quite right," and galloped again with the boys, though Victor looked after them with some anxiety, wondering whether he should also go.

They walked back, Bellamy casually slumped in the saddle, and again staring into the distance, not contributing to the chatter of the boys. There was to be another gymkhana the following week, but when asked if he was going, he said that he didn't think so.

Oliver found him later that day, sitting against a stone in the cemetery. "You're remembering things, aren't you?"

Bellamy answered, though he'd been so quiet the last week. "There's a lot to remember."

Oliver went to a particular grave stone, and said, "Tell me about Chrissy Barnes."

Bellamy told him about the sad-eyed, skinny girl, whom he'd brought back from London one day. How she was a very strong woman, who'd made a mistake early in life, but was able to make a new life for herself when given the opportunity. "She bossed me about," he said, adding with a grin, that all his employees bossed him about. "If I bought shirts she thought were too bright, she'd quietly make sure they were lost. She thought I wouldn't notice."

Over the next days, he told Oliver more stories of his ancestors. The Barnes had been with him so long that it was a way of sorting out his own life, as well. Chris and Chrissy had married, and then there was Simon and Beau. "They used to trot around at my heels wherever I went until one or other of their parents would say I was not to be bothered with small boys. But they didn't bother me. I liked them close. They were the first kids to call me Boss, and now even Paul's family does, even Rick and Cameron and their girls, though I'm not boss for any of them."

That night, he disturbed Pat by having a nightmare, throwing himself out of the bed and staring wildly at her from a place where he was backed up against the wall. But then he shook his head and apologised. "It was a long time ago, and the Dementors are gone now."

Pat said softly, "Tell me, Henry."

He'd never told her before about the terrible time when a Dementor was coming back for him, and he couldn't do anything to stop it. But now he related the story, concluding, "I was half mad with fear. I sent Julie away and hid Adrian, but I couldn't hide."

He was quiet a long time, and then he said, "Have you noticed that out of the worst times, sometimes, good things can result?"

She looked at him questioningly, and he continued, "I was half mad with fear, and I got myself into fist fights, and went with lots of women, anything to avoid thinking of what was coming. And that was when the two babies that were the ancestors of Lucasta and Juana were conceived, who can break spells, and were here to help people who needed it, when I was gone."

"The Kaseys are doing the same thing, born with extra power as a result of selective breeding, which, I'm sure, often caused terrible misery, but now they only help people."

Bellamy laughed. "I wouldn't trust Zoe. She's a wild one. If someone gets on her wrong side, I think she'd still do something terrible to them."

"She's so young, and was reared in that family. Her child was killed by her own family. Maybe one day, she'll fall in love with a good man, and will soften."

He reached out and touched his wife on the shoulder. "Do you want to go outside for a little while, and feel the night?"

"_Feel _the night?" she said.

He didn't explain further, it made perfect sense to him. But she put on a thick dressing gown and went outside with him. It was a clear night, chill, though well into spring, and the stars were clear in her sight, and then in Bellamy's. "My sight hasn't improved yet," he said, "Maybe in a few weeks."

She squeezed him, and hoped he wasn't being unrealistically optimistic. It was a habit of his. How often had he said that the attacks of pain would never happen again?

The next day, he went to the walled garden, and this time, when he touched the stone, the image of Luna came to him. He saw her barefoot, mud squeezing up between toes. He remembered Beth as a round toddler, who'd laughed at nothing. When Pat opened the door, looking for him, he was sitting, leaning against the wall, his face running with tears. In a long life, there are always griefs. She went and sat close, in contact, but not saying anything. After a long time, he looked at her and smiled.

He was seeming almost himself again, if quiet, but refused to resume work, just saying that people could go to Zoe, if they needed, and he didn't want to do any socialising at all, not even a dinner party that Margaret and Edward were hosting. Margaret came to see him instead, and she listened, as enthralled as Oliver, when he started talking about Simon and Naomi already planning to marry when Naomi was still at school. "I think Simon wanted to get to her early, before he had too much competition."

"Was that when the Barnes got magic?"

Bellamy nodded. "Simon used to stare at Archie, quite bewildered, when Archie worked magic. He found it hard to believe that his son could be a wizard."

Margaret laughed, but Oliver didn't. He was still a bit sore about missing out on the magic.

Bellamy continued, "He told me once that he wanted to have seven more, so that he'd have a whole family of witches and wizards, but Naomi thought one was enough."

Margaret said, "It's funny, you knowing our grandparents and great grandparents when they were young."

Bellamy was silent. He had to think about that at some stage, but he'd faced it before, and the wisdom was still there, somewhere. But he had to think about it.

Marcus Pickering was waiting to ride with him the day after. He wanted stories of his ancestors, too. Bellamy gave him his stories, Bridon Pickering, who'd come to work with him as a security guard, and was so very goodlooking that all the Wiley girls couldn't keep their eyes off him, to the annoyance of Beau and Simon Barnes, who had their eyes on the Wiley girls. "But he fell in love with Cissy Diefenberger, instead, and that's when they started the Andalusian stud."

Marcus asked, "When did the Line of Sheba start then?"

"Difficult to say. For a long time, I just had a few mares breeding, and it was only when I went away for many years, that first Beau, and then Paul, started to do it properly."

"Australia wants to import some colts."

Bellamy looked questioning, and Marcus answered. "Don't worry, Dad said as soon as you're ready, you're to go over and help decide which are worthy. But no hurry."

They still didn't hurry him, and Bellamy was grateful. Almost every day, he spent hours alone, up his tree, surrounded by the feeling of the life of the tree, and the life of the birds, even that of fluttering insects, and warmed by a spring sun. He was glad it was such a warm spring. There were painful times in his past, traumatic times, but they needed to be re-explored. He understood himself, and knew where his terror of confinement had originated, so long ago that he'd been still a teenager himself, when the Ministry had tried to lock him away for life. His terror of being tied was irrational. He was a wizard who didn't even need a wand just to vanish handcuffs or ropes. But it was very real.

He took his watches off one day, and studied the scars around his wrists. But the scars were just a result of an embarrassing incident when he'd panicked because he was tied and hadn't been able to free himself. The origin of the specific fear of ropes around his wrist went back further, and was buried in a drug ridden haze. There had been a time when he was tied, a prisoner, and made helpless with drugs. There had been abuse. But he'd killed his captors afterwards, and there was no lingering bitterness, just that fear that had become a part of the larger fear, of confinement and helplessness.

It was the middle of May before he picked up his glasses, picked up his horse book, and read it. He didn't black out, had no attacks of pain, just pleased himself with his own simple story of Canadian wild horses that was really a story about life and death. So many of those around him, he remembered as babies. And he remembered now that there had been others, many others, children, grandchildren, employees, whom he'd known as babies, and had seen mature, grow old, and finally die. He'd fought that battle of acceptance before, though he read another book, one with pages that appeared blank to anyone else but himself.

Pat watched him later that same day, as he sat in a garden, looking at bright spring flowers that would soon be spent. He wore an air of wisdom that she hadn't seen for a long time. He didn't often show that look, but when he did, it reminded Pat of his daughter, Beth. Beth had worn that look.

The book with the blank pages was in the secret section of his library, though he showed Pat how to get in, as he knew she worried still, that he might collapse and be undiscovered. She, too, bore scars from these last years, the sudden loss of him, the knowledge of what had been done to him, and then the continuing anxiety when he came back, but so damaged. Twice he'd vanished, the first time just two days after he came back, and then again, not so long ago, when he'd followed the Christmas lights.

There had been something else in his past that had caused him pain. And he read another book with apparently blank pages, a sad book about treachery and betrayal. His own wife's brother, Ginny's brother, uncle to his children, who'd turned on him, and caused an auror to hit him with a stun spell as he worked the strong magic, causing a severe illness. The auror who'd hit him in the back had been a friend. It was after that incident that he'd experienced the first time when the terrible head pain had attacked him. He hadn't tried to use the strong magic for a long time after that. He rubbed his forehead. It had been the same pain more recently. The unendurable pain, the sort that had killed Cissy so suddenly. But of all the times he suffered it himself, it had never killed him, though both Bryce and Isaac could have told him how close it came several times.

Another Saturday. He could count on Oliver joining him for his morning ride almost every weekend, and often Steve, as well. This time, to his surprise, there was Gedda, on her grey. Steve said with a pleased smile, "She doesn't live so far away, so I asked if she wanted to join us."

Bellamy smiled and greeted the girl, and thought for the first time of the complications that could arise from knowing too many of the local medj population.

He talked to Pat about it later, and she said, quite calmly, that not yet, but in a few years, he'd have to 'die,' change his name, and keep right out of sight of the locals for forty years or so. "You've done it before," she reminded him. "I've spoken to Alison about it. She says the death duties you'll pay are substantial, but she'll reduce the extra tax paid as donations for a couple of years in advance.

Bellamy looked puzzled. It was not a lack of memory, just that he'd never taken any notice of money affairs. Pat explained. "Some of your income is sourced from wizarding business, and that doesn't appear in medj records. So we just make anonymous donations, equivalent to the amount of tax that you'd otherwise pay."

Bellamy nodded. He never had interested himself in his money. There had always been enough.

"Your death is actually _expected _among the locals. There's been rumours for a while that you're terminally ill." She smiled. "Alison said that she'd been told with authority just the other day that it's a rare form of leukaemia, but you've just been to Brazil where you took the coffee cure."

Bellamy laughed. "Celia said?" He knew of Celia Raddock, but he'd never met her.

There was a letter from Clare Glover that day. It seemed she'd taken a while getting around to telling her husband about her baby's father. _He was thrilled,_ she wrote. _To think that he'd get to raise the son of the most powerful wizard of all time! _She went on to say that Jackson claimed to be the descendant of the best friend of Bellamy, Neville Longbottom, a great fighter, who'd saved his life more than once.

Pat laughed at Bellamy's quizzical expression when he read it to her, and said, "You told me before, that Neville was certainly a friend, but never a great fighter, and someone else was your best friend."

Bellamy nodded and smiled. "I'm not about to correct any illusions if it gives them pleasure." He rose then, stretching, and asked Pat, quite casually, if she still thought he should have an escort whenever he went off the property.

"For a while."

"I'll see who's willing, then. I'm only going over to Norm's place. I didn't see him last time he visited."

Pat nodded. She'd been keeping people away, but it looked like he was ready to start living in the present again.

Norm Lockwood was surprised to see his friend wearing glasses. It made him look older. But he was very happy to see him, seeming perfectly well, although he had a companion as usual, this time a middle-aged woman with an old scar across her face, introduced as Therese. Lockwood looked at her horse, a white mare. "That's surely not Line of Sheba," he exclaimed.

Therese said, "I'm not much of a rider. This is a retired brood mare, but it wasn't far, and Biddy's very quiet."

They were taken to see the yearling foals, sons and daughters of God Wot?. There was a fairly conventionally patterned skewbald, but the other three were all dark, each with a slash of white on its rump, as well as some white in the hairs of manes and tails. Lockwood looked at them with a great deal of pleasure. Anyone could tell they were from the Line of Sheba with those markings. He pointed to the skewbald. "That one definitely seems to be the fastest. You're a good judge!"

"In some ways," Bellamy replied. "In other ways, Paul is much better." He smiled. "We'll have to do the annual cull soon, and we always have arguments, but Paul's on holidays, and it has to wait a little."

Norm said, "I'd love to be there."

"If you like, there's often a few like to come."

The Ministry was advised that Bellamy was available for work again, and appointments were made, needing a few days notice to the overseas customers, which were these days, by far, the majority. Word returned to him, not that Wednesday, but if willing, the following Wednesday and also Thursday. Bellamy just nodded when Alison told him, and Alison sent off the acceptance.

Bellamy was out and about again, not complaining that Pat still wanted him always to have someone with him. Those about him were his friends, and there was always one who could put away any other work, and go with him.

He saw Bob Barton a lot these days, as Bob was checking daily on his new lambs. One morning, Bob waved to him, full of his gossip. A sheep thief was after the stud sheep belonging to Cec Arbuckle, but somehow or other, he'd fainted, and when the police arrived, was apparently filled with a desire to confess his crimes. Bellamy grinned. That didn't sound usual, and he decided it was high time to visit Alison again.

Kitty wanted to go. She and Alison had been close for years, although Kitty said that she couldn't possibly ride a horse, not even Biddy, and they had to go in a car.

Alison could explain a lot further. "You know the most beautiful baby in the world," she said, in a tone of irony. "Well, he sleeps very badly, and I was up again for about the tenth time that night, and saw a light where there shouldn't be. So I picked up my wand, went outside, stunned the man, and hit him with a Fess Up Spell."

"I thought the Confession Spell didn't work very well," said Bellamy.

"Well, on medj, or this medj in any case, it worked beautifully. The police told me today that there's a half dozen farmers who're having sheep returned, and some farm machinery as well."

Bellamy congratulated her, and Alison confided, "I'm not sure I would have had the courage to tackle even a medj without all that Defence Practice we've done over the years."

Kitty said, "Didn't you nearly take out the boss that time, when he came back unexpectedly, and you nearly knocked him out?"

Alison laughed and blushed, "That was an accident."

She looked curiously at the boss. Did he really remember things these days? But the boss was talking to Jason again. Alison's nose wrinkled, and she waved a wand. The baby was clean again.

Cec watched dotingly, "Better than the traditional way!" And he offered them some scones. "I made them. Alison can do all sorts of things with her magic, even plough paddocks, but she's a hopeless cook."

Alison smiled. She'd made sure to be a hopeless cook. It was one thing that magic wasn't really very good for.

***chapter end***


	43. Chapter 43

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/__Chapter 22_

The following Wednesday, Bellamy appeared in the Ministry Atrium, without his dog, and wearing glasses. Rumours of a complete recovery spread through the Ministry very quickly, and had spread considerably wider by the time he finished the day's work.

He let Bryce have a look at him afterwards, even answered his questions. His eyesight seemed fine, with the glasses he'd always worn, and he thought he was fully himself again. Bryce hugged him, and declared they'd celebrate. Bellamy grinned, but replied that he was not yet ready for celebrations if Bryce didn't mind. Maybe in a month or so.

There was something that Bellamy didn't talk about with Bryce, and had no intention of sharing with Isaac, either, when he saw him. He hadn't lost his ability to see what others saw. It seemed he could now accommodate both ways of seeing. His mind automatically sorted it all out for him, and he didn't need to think about it. He suspected that an occasional ability to see around corners might come in very useful.

None of his patients were difficult in those two days, and he asked Jilla to recall those he'd failed, that he expected to be able to use the strong magic now without any problems. Jilla nodded, and consulted with Bryce, who said no more than one a week.

_**x**_

A big June horse-show, and this time Bellamy was pleased to go. This time the Pickering horse-box and the Bellamy horse-box were joined by the Cutter horsebox, that belonging to Geraldine's parents. There was a second Pickering horse-box, too, that carried matching ponies, to be ridden in led classes by Rick's little daughters.

Bellamy happily talked to horses, talked to Paul, and to Cameron and Rick, his employees. It seemed that Rick's girls might soon be joining Victor's riding lessons. Victor had offered. He liked teaching the children. Just as soon as their mother thought them old enough.

It seemed that Geraldine's mother had loved the same book as Kay Barton did. The palomino really was called Thowra. Storm looked over at his half brother, untied himself, and went to stand close. Bellamy noticed, and just smiled. He valued a horse with brains. Geraldine and the boys were competing again, and this time, both Steve and Oliver made mistakes, giving Geraldine the win in the Junior Showjumping, to the enormous pleasure of herself and her mother, who treated all five children to ice-creams.

A watching auror nudged the other. "She forgot Bellamy!"

Bellamy knew they were there, and even caught that thought, and smiled to himself. There were no enemies. He found it easy now just to extend his mind, and feel for potential danger.

The happiest of them all, by the end of the day, were two little girls, led around in a show class, and ending with a first and second. "They'll probably be able to ride the spotted ponies in a few years," remarked Bellamy to Paul.

"The cull two weeks from now?" said Paul. "It's a full day's job, and I'm a bit too busy just now, with all the new foals."

Bellamy nodded. "Whatever you say," and asked if it was all right if Norm Lockwood came to watch.

"He knows to keep it quiet, what they are?" asked Paul, and Bellamy nodded. "He knows."

_**x**_

Wednesday, and Bellamy used the strong magic on one recalled customer, with ease, and asked why the others hadn't been recalled yet. "There was that last Khatabi victim - Galatea, he was called. I want to fix him."

Jilla nodded. "Next week, assuming he wants to come."

Galatea had become a symbol to Bellamy. It would be over then. He was healthy, he no longer regularly suffered agony, the Khatabi family was no longer a threat, and even better, had supplied two very competent spell-breakers - and his memory was no longer a clean slate. But there was one last Khatabi victim to go.

Susan, Lesley and Mary arrived home for the summer holidays, and their father embraced them with love. He remembered each of them as tiny babies, as toddlers, as enquiring children, and now as teenagers, Susan a grown young woman. She was seventeen, and the coming year would be her last at Hogwarts. It would not be so hard this year, to see them leave again.

Their mother had told them that he could remember things now, but they each had to test, "Do you remember when...?"

But he said, "Only one each. I don't want to be caught out."

Mary caught him out, but it was only because it was a made-up memory, concocted on the way home. He said, reproachfully, when she admitted to it, that it was a mean trick. He wasn't _that_ sure that he was all right again! She hugged him, and said that it was so good to have her father back, and whole - not that she ever thought he wasn't whole. Bellamy smiled. Whatever they had thought, he had been a shell, and now he was no longer a shell.

The next Wednesday, Jilla assured him that Galatea was there, scheduled last. He nodded. It was prudent, even though he'd done it twice now. Bryce did his readings, which he always insisted on, every week. Bellamy humoured him, though he thought it quite unnecessary. Bryce seldom commented on his results, having learned from experience that such comment only annoyed him, and sometimes resulted in an outright row. But this time, he said, "_Finally!_ You're back up to your normal weight."

Bellamy asked, "Do we still get a good lunch?"

Early in the day, there was a wizard called Blaise, who was unchanged after Bellamy waved his wand.

"I'll need the telepathic cure," said Bellamy. It was routine now.

But Blaise said, "No, I can't stand that! Please use the strong magic. They say you can do that now!"

Bellamy frowned at him. "Have I tried to cure you before?"

Blaise was hesitant, and Bellamy said, "You pretended to be a different patient, didn't you?" The zebra striped man nodded, looking embarrassed.

Bellamy said to Bryce, "I'll try him straight after Galatea, but Galatea was booked in legitimately. He gets priority."

The day wore on, an excellent lunch as usual, and the normal procession of weird looking, sometimes crippled witches and wizards, occasionally a child, once a dog. Bellamy was working quickly, and all but the two for the strong magic were finished by afternoon teatime.

In the waiting room zebra-striped Blaise said something about the weather to big, blustering Galatea, whose wife sat quietly and said not a word. Galatea didn't answer. Blaise tried again, "It'll be nice to go out in public again. At the moment, everyone thinks I'm just a mad football fanatic."

"It'll be about time for me," grumbled Galatea. "It's been years, and it was his fault I got cursed in the first place. The Khatabi witch only did me and the others in order to lure him to Italy."

"Really," said Blaise, beginning to regret being friendly in the first place.

Galatea continued. "He tried in October and was hopeless! I told him, I said, Call yourself a great wizard!"

Blaise laughed. "I was challenged to a duel for a lesser rudeness than that!"

Galatea's wife threw Blaise a half smile. Maybe if her husband was relieved of the irritation of rashes and boils, he might be easier to live with. Right now, she'd exchange him for this pleasant tempered man in a flash, zebra striped or not!

A uniformed auror leaned expressionless against the wall. There was no guarantee that there wouldn't be a potential assassin among the patients, and there was always an auror in the room.

Jilla poked her head in, and asked Mr. Galatea to follow her, shaking her head at his wife, who also rose. The wife sat down again. Blaise said to her, "He'll probably be able to do it this time," and added, "It'll be the second time for me, he fixed me four years ago, though he probably won't remember."

Little Mrs. Galatea sighed, and said, "He's wonderful, isn't he? What he can do! And he came back after that awful thing!"

"It wasn't really his fault that the Khatabi witch got those people!"

Mrs. Galatea shook her head, and said loyally, "It's just that Rosco's skin is always itching, and the boils are painful. He wasn't so bad tempered once."

Inside the workroom, Galatea still looked bad tempered, and said, "I hope you can fix me this time. You were pathetic last time."

Bellamy looked surprised, and only said, "I hope so, too."

Bryce was spluttering in his fury at the insult to his friend, and Dieter looked at him in some amusement. Not all their patients were particularly nice people. Collette was in the workroom as well. Bellamy had been physically attacked by this man before.

Bellamy started to warn Galatea about the frightening feeling that he would feel. That he should just stay still, and be patient and not interrupt. Bellamy was interrupted. Galatea said that he wasn't a coward, and Bellamy should just get on and do it. Bellamy shrugged, raised his wand, but opened his mind to his patient as well. He didn't want him panicking and running, possibly knocking him over in the process and hurting him. It could hurt him badly if interrupted in the middle of this, and he added an ingredient that protected himself. No-one could get close to him now, and even a stunner would be deflected.

Shortly, Galatea's fright was rising in him, and Bellamy had to work hard to impose calm. Luckily, Galatea didn't guess that his courage to stand still, came from outside.

It was not an easy cure, and Collette quite suddenly fainted, crumpling to the floor almost without a sound. Dieter glanced at her. This had happened before. Certain people just seemed to feel it more than others, and he wouldn't have Collette with Bellamy again when he did this.

Galatea's face became smooth and he caressed it, feeling an overwhelming relief and a desire to cry. He was a big, tough man, and he could not cry. He stifled his feelings of gratitude. It was still Bellamy's fault that he'd suffered years of misery. He grunted, turned and stalked out the door, even before the magic had quite died from the air.

But Bellamy smiled, and said, "Number sixty-five. All done."

"There's Blaise," reminded Bryce, and Bellamy nodded. "I nearly forgot."

Blaise was polite from the start, and thanked him very gratefully when he was told he was done. "Someone told me I must be a Collingwood Supporter, and I've never _heard_ of Collingwood."

Bellamy leaned against the wall and trembled slightly. But that was normal, and he just waited until it finished. Bryce waved his Nisco at him, and he nodded. If he wanted.

Bryce grinned all over his face, afterward. "You've scarcely tired yourself!"

Bellamy asked him how Isaac was, and then congratulated him on his book, which he'd just read.

"Me and Isaac," said Bryce. "We make a good team," and wondered again how they could bear not to publish their book about the great wizard's recovery from Cha Keeyo. But Bellamy was looking at him, suddenly cool, and he shivered and decided that maybe not for a while, and anyway, it wasn't finished yet.

Jilla came in, beaming. "A good day," and added, "That pig of a man, his wife went to hug him, and he turned his back."

Bellamy smiled. "Maybe Zoe was right, she wanted to turn him into a pig."

***chapter end***


	44. Chapter 44

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/__Chapter 23_

Time for the annual cull, and Norm Lockwood picked up Bellamy in his expensive car. Susan was riding over, preferring to be free to leave once she became bored. Oliver was off with Steve, though he spent a lot of time with the Bournes as well, these days. They used the cubby house a lot, and were apt to address each other, very formally, with their full names, 'Mr. Ross Adam Bourne, Order of Merlin, Second Class,' for instance, or, 'Mr. Oliver Archibald Barnes, Order of Merlin, Second Class.'

Helena gave Bellamy his usual hug, on arrival, and was introduced to Lockwood. For almost the first time in this company, Lord Lockwood was treated almost with reverence. But Helena was not only medj, she was local, and had grown up thinking the duke was next to God. After her husband went off with Lockwood and Bellamy, she bustled back to the kitchen. If the duke was staying to lunch, it had to be special.

The yearlings were excited, alternately charging around their paddock, bucking and playing, and mobbing Bellamy, trying to get as close as possible. Horses always loved Bellamy. They were the forty-six foals of the previous year. Most were solid colours, but there were several skewbalds and one piebald. There were no greys, duns, or palominos. Six of them were progeny of God Wot?, born in Bellamy's own home paddock. Each of them wore a halter, each with a number and most with a name shown on the browband.

One by one, Bellamy spoke to the horses, consulted Paul, and most of them were put into an adjacent paddock. Passed cull. Lockwood watched closely, making his own judgements. Susan and Marcus held hands, and they, too, watched closely. Marcus was taking a very active interest in the horses now, and was to be made an official partner as soon as he was thought to have acquired sufficient knowledge.

Only three horses were rejected by Bellamy, not brainy enough to be of the Line of Sheba. There was also one whom he frowned over, and then rejected too.

"Why?" said Paul.

Bellamy said slowly, "Not quite sure, maybe some spite in his character."

"No horse is spiteful unless he's ill-treated."

Bellamy said, "Don't be naive."

Paul gave up, and conceded to the rejection. He'd rejected some, too, three he deemed too small and unlikely to grow sufficiently, and one with poor conformation. Bellamy didn't argue. Paul was better than he was at assessing a horse's conformation.

Paul said, "This is the fourth foal of that particular mare, and we've rejected three. I'm taking her out of the breeding programme."

"We've got a lot of people riding horses now. Send her over to us unless you want her."

Paul nodded. "She's a beautiful mare herself, will make a nice ride as soon as this year's foal is grown. She's never been broken in, of course."

Paul said, "The two-year-olds?"

Bellamy nodded, and sighed. "They're all beautiful. I wish we could keep them all."

Paul smiled. He always said that. But this was business, and he only said, "We want five colts for Australia from the two-year-olds."

"Does the buyer need to look at them?"

"No, they say if they're good enough to be Line of Sheba, then it's what they want."

Lockwood shook his head at the eight yearlings that had been rejected. They would be sold, and not as Line of Sheba. No wonder the stud had such a reputation. The rejects were all high quality horses, maybe except for one.

Paul took the lead now. Bellamy held each one and talked to it, as Paul ran experienced hands over it, and then stood back and just looked. Another was rejected. "Not quite up to standard," Paul said. Bellamy nodded.

The colts were looked at in greater depth. They seldom sold colts, usually gelding any they didn't want as stallions. But that didn't mean they were not good horses.

"How are you off for stallions?" Bellamy asked.

"I have two working, and I don't want any more at this stage."

Bellamy pointed. "That black is outstanding, and the two bays are very good."

Paul nodded, and the nominated horses were separated from the others. One had a slash of white on his rump. Paul said, "Some of the buyers are beginning to look for that particular mark now, like it's a trademark."

Bellamy was talking to the black. "Stud duty, eh?" said Bellamy. "It's a good life for a horse."

The colt blew into his face and moved a touch closer.

Paul was looking very carefully at the others, and finally had a close look at another black colt. "It's full brother to Naji," he remarked.

Bellamy was interested, and ran a hand over the horse's back, before looking rather doubtfully at Paul. "Is he good enough to stand at stud?"

Paul was decisive. "No, he's not," and he put the horse back with the others who would be gelded. A skewbald was closely looked at then, and there was agreement. That one was good enough. There were only four, and all the rest would be gelded. But the Line of Sheba stud was not big, and it would be by no means the first time that an order could not be filled.

The next group were three year olds, and the most important selection was to be made. Which of the fillies should be kept for breeding, which should be sold? There was argument now, continuing though lunch. Paul wanted five and he chose five, but Bellamy insisted that two more could not be lost to the stud. The argument became louder. Marcus and Susan grinned at each other. It happened every year. Lockwood talked to Helena, as both Paul and Bellamy seemed to have forgotten that they were not alone.

Paul conceded. They'd be having two extra mares, and the stud had just expanded yet again. But Marcus was helping fulltime now, which reduced the workload a bit.

Paul was suddenly polite, remembering that there was a guest, and invited him to look at his Andalusians. Lockwood looked and admired. They had such a presence about them, these horses, such grace and beauty. He ran out of superlatives. Paul said, "And they never, ever jump the fences, or open the gates, or go wandering and find mates when they're not supposed to."

Bellamy sighed and agreed, "Yes, but they are quite pretty, and one can't have everything!"

Paul grinned. He knew that Bellamy considered his precious Andalusians far too staid. He asked, "So who are you riding, now that God Wot?'s gone?"

"Brandon, but I'm not allowed to teach him to buck, or Victor'll go crook."

Paul said, "Well, we had another horse returned the other day, sent all the way back from Australia. He was sold as a colt, but turned up his nose at the mares presented to him, and then escaped, and was finally recaptured running wild in the mountains with twenty mares, three of them stolen stockhorses. They gelded him and sent him back."

He pointed, and Bellamy and Lockwood walked with him to a small paddock where a thin black horse was looking very dejected. Paul said. "He's had a few names - we called him originally Madigan, his new owners called him Black Alexander, or Alexandre Noir, when they were trying to impress, and when he was returned, he was called _That bloody black bastard of a brumby."_

Bellamy whistled, but the horse turned his back and flattened his ears.

"Don't forget he's been running wild," cautioned Paul, as Bellamy opened the gate.

Unusually, Bellamy listened to him, and only leaned against the fence and waited. He called gently, "Madigan." The horse still presented his rump and now stamped a foot.

"Poor fellow," said Bellamy. "He organised himself a great life, and now he's lost everything." He turned to his audience. "How about you leave us alone for a while?"

Paul glanced at Lockwood and asked if he wanted to inspect the stallions. Lockwood agreed eagerly, and afterwards talked again about the culling process.

Paul said, "Bellamy talks to them like no-one else can. He knows them."

Lockwood spoke about his own yearlings, especially that skewbald that Bellamy said was so good.

Paul said, "If the boss says to keep it, then definitely, keep it!" He looked at a group of Andalusian yearlings. "I might have him look at the Andalusians I choose to keep for breeding from now on, just to make sure no vicious strain sneaks in."

Lockwood said doubtfully, "I've always been told that no horse is vicious unless someone makes him so."

"You heard the boss. It seems he doesn't agree. And a lot of our retired mares are used for Riding for the Disabled for a few years. Helena is on the Committee and takes a close interest. But the horses absolutely must be good tempered for that."

Meantime, Bellamy left the fence, but only went further into the paddock, and then leaned against a different fence. The horse snorted and stamped a foot again. Bellamy started talking softly, persuasively, and not just verbally. "You can lose a lot, you know. Sometimes, it seems you can lose everything there is." One ear came forward. Bellamy smiled. "And sometimes, there's an awful lot of living left to do."

He almost forgot the sad black horse, engrossed in his own thoughts, staring into the distance. He had lost a lot. There had been months when he hadn't even lived, just lying in a coma. It had taken a long time. He had been just a shell, though others said he was not. But he had found his way home. He had found his wife and his family. His magic had returned, and he could feel the living things around him in a way he had not been able to before. The last of the Riza Khatabi victims was cured, he grinned, (pig of an ignorant man that he was,) and, most satisfying of all, two young members of that family were now working their magic for the benefitof people. He thought that was definitely the best revenge. There was even a baby, soon to be one year old. Clare intended to tell the child of his heritage when he was old enough. He liked that. It was like it gave him just some slight degree of ownership.

Life was good. One can lose what seems to be everything, and yet, from the ashes, a new life can still come. The black horse snorted in his face, and Bellamy reached up a hand to touch.

_The end._


End file.
